


The View From Here

by louicon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, age gap, punk!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louicon/pseuds/louicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's just then that Louis realizes although his work environment is all about risks and screwing people over before they screw you, Harry might be more dangerous than anyone he works with or against to make a paycheck. Vulnerable as the kid may be, he's starting to pose a real threat to Louis' way of life."</p><p>AU. Basically rich!Louis & punk!Harry. Louis lives alone in a penthouse and Harry got fucked over with no other place to go. Harry's seventeen and Louis is twenty seven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Consequences of Caving In

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Louis' penthouse was high enough that if he were to look down through his window at the people below, he wouldn't be able to distinguish the respective features of one face from another. The rooftop garden was even higher still and the view from there made the forms of the people blend into the cement. It's up on that roof where Louis spends most of his time. Far enough away from the rest of the world and yet still too close to his too big apartment not more than three floors down; much too big for a single man such as himself. The farther he gets from the people he fears, the closer he draws to his own maddening loneliness. There's a severe lack of balance and he just can't seem to win.

 

He thinks it's time for a change of scenery.

 

* * * * *

 

Louis is a man well off enough that he can afford to live in a building equipped with a cafe on the ground floor but not rich enough that he could buy himself out of some mistress or escort scandal. He sleeps alone for the most part and within this cafe, he eats alone too. Tonight he sits by the window. It's the closest he'll allow himself get to people for right now – finally caving in to his natural desire for some kind of social interaction but without actually interacting with anyone. He lives in the big city of New York so even as he gazes out the window to look at passerby, they don't notice him despite him noticing them. He prefers it like this.

 

On several occasions he sees a few individuals that catch his eye enough to make him want them to notice him, though. But he's not about ready to start banging on the window or run out onto the sidewalk to engage in awkward conversation. Although his loneliness is slowly driving him to the brink of insanity, he's not quite that desperate. Not just yet.

 

But maybe there's a possibility that Louis doesn't have to stoop to that level. One such individual catches his eye before he has the chance to catch theirs first. The man – a rather boyish looking one, at that – is walking from the direction that Louis is facing from his table next to the window. Hands in his pockets, he was looking across the street before his head turned around to face the other way. And that's when his eyes locked with Louis'. He stopped immediately and held Louis' gaze for a moment before looking up at the building next to him. He squints his eyes and then scans the wall with his eyebrows furrowed. Such unusual behavior for random passerby has Louis intrigued. In spite of all rudeness, he keeps staring. Although the longer he stares, the more confused he becomes. Especially so when the manboy approaches the door to the building and enters. Seconds later he appears in the entrance of the cafe, hands still in his pockets, and makes his way to the exact table Louis is sitting at. He doesn't even give those sitting at the other tables a second glance. His entire focus is on Louis.

 

Without a word, Louis' is now sitting across from this intriguing individual who didn't even ask if he could sit down. He merely pulled his hands out of his pockets, took a seat, and laid those hands out in his lap. Now he's leaned back into his chair, shoulders relaxed with his head dropped to the side. He stares at Louis who continues to stare right back.

 

Who's going to initiate conversation first?

 

It's Louis that finally breaks.

 

“I'm not sure what I'm meant to think of this,” he confesses. And the man straightens his head and raises his eyebrows.

 

“Think of what?”

 

Louis immediately takes note of how deep this man's voice is in comparison to his own. It contradicts his boyish face but perfectly matches his rough exterior – he's saturated in tattoos and his hair is greased up into a mess that looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks. It's a definite contrast to Louis' clean-cut businessman aesthetic. If any passerby were to look through the window like this man had just moments before, they might think Louis is a dad who's breaking the news to his punk, no good son that he's being cut off from the family funds.

 

“Uh...” Louis trails off and tries to pull himself out of his thoughts. He's never been good at conversation. He can control an entire boardroom without missing a beat. But actual connection with another human being? That's something he's not so familiar with. And he thinks that's probably why he's been single for so long. Without even a passing fancy or interest. Money talks. But Louis doesn't. Not that often anyway. Not if he doesn't have to. And he supposes that in this situation he's not obligated to engage in conversation with this man sitting across from him, but he'd just feel awkward otherwise.

 

“Well it's not every day that a random stranger sits down and joins me for dinner,” Louis finally manages.

 

“Call it charity,” the man opposite drawls. “My appearance may say otherwise but I'm a very virtuous man, you know.”

 

Louis finds that hard to believe but he doesn't admit as much.

 

“Charity is for those who are needy,” Louis points out.

 

“And you look like you're in desperate need for some company.”

 

Louis' eyebrows knit together and the fork he had been about to bring up to his mouth stalls in midair. The confusion he felt before comes creeping back.

 

“Do I?” Louis asks. “Just because someone's eating alone doesn't necessarily mean they need company.”

 

_Or want it_ , Louis finishes for himself in his thoughts. Although he thinks that might be a lie. Maybe he does want company. Maybe that's why he came down to the cafe in the first place. Not just to be surrounded by people for once but to actually interact with those people. Connect. And not through phones and Emails like his day job demands of him. But an actual connection outside of making money and fucking people over.

 

Who's to say that this man sitting in front of Louis isn't out to fuck him over, though? To just randomly walk into the cafe and sit down at his table – something's gotta' give.

 

“You have _'lonely businessman on the brink of suicide'_ written all over you.”

 

And  _oh_ . Louis would agree to that first bit but the second? That's a little drastic.

 

“You live here, don't you?” the man continues. And Louis nods.

 

“But how do you figure that?”

 

“If you didn't live in this building, why would you be eating in its cafe?”

 

Point taken. But, “Maybe I just really like their food.”

 

“Out of all the restaurants in New York? I'm pretty sure you could find something better. No matter how great this food is. I've hardly been here for a week and even I know there's better places.”

 

Louis' confusion is quickly turning into agitation. As anxious as he is to avoid all human contact as much as he can – save for this one night only; a night's efforts that's clearly turning into a disaster – he's never one to keep his mouth shut if there's someone annoying him.

 

“Who the hell are you even?” Louis asks – a bite to his tone. “For someone who's all about virtue and charity, your attitude certainly says otherwise.”

 

Mother Theresa was also a very charitable woman but Louis doubts there was ever a moment in her life where she pointed to a man and said, hey, you look like you want to kill yourself.

 

“Oh, you're right.” And Louis notices that the man across from him actually looks genuinely sorry. For a moment he thinks the man feels apologetic for what he's said but, no. He looks sorry for a different reason entirely.

 

“How rude of me for not introducing myself. Terribly sorry about that. My name's Harry.”

 

Louis' puts his fork down and brushes off his hands before extending one across the table. This man – Harry – just stares at it.

 

“What?” Harry asks.

 

Louis nudges his hand forward just a bit farther and says, “I'm Louis.”

 

Harry still doesn't reach out and, after a few lingering moments, Louis takes his own hand back and replaces his fork within its grip once again.

 

“Not much of a handshaker, huh?”

 

A huff and then an eyeroll.

 

“That's so fucking stupid,” Harry mutters. “People who judge character based on the grip of a man's hand alone are fucking dicks. You know what that mentality says to me?”

 

Louis cocks his head; intrigued, because he's one of those people who takes much of a person's first impression from a handshake.

 

“It says to me that the hand I'm shaking belongs to an asshole who doesn't think of me as valuable enough to get to know me the right way.”

 

That's not the response Louis was expecting but, honestly, it made a lot of sense. Although he wouldn't admit that. Harry's already established that Louis looks like he's a man of business – right around the same time he mentioned that he also looks like he wants to kill himself. There certainly was no use in explaining to Harry that that's just how business is. In a cutthroat work environment you don't even have time to sign your name on a contract – never mind get to know the person who's filing the contract away.

 

“Fair enough,” Louis mutters before taking a bite of his food. In his distraction with this Harry person, his dinner has since gotten cold. He thinks he's done with it. He waves over a waiter to come and take the plate away but before the waiter even has the chance to pick it off the table, Harry's arm is shooting out and grabbing the waiter's wrist.

 

“Wait,” he says. Looking at Louis, he asks, “Are you done with this?”

 

Louis nods his head slowly. He thought that much would have been obvious. Why else would he have called the waiter over?

 

“Can I have it?”

 

Harry's eyes are wide and in such a short amount of time his sassy, cool demeanor has disintegrated into something else entirely. That's not desperation etched into the lines of his face, is it? Louis doesn't want to say for sure – never one to assume. That could get your ass dragged quicker than a blink of an eye and Louis knows from experience. But he nods anyway and gives the waiter a look before waving him off. The waiter walks away looking as bewildered as Louis feels. And such bewilderment only increases when he sees how quickly Harry snatches up the fork and starts shoveling the food into his mouth.

 

“You're quite the character, Harry,” mutters Louis as he watches the individual across from him keep eating. He doesn't acknowledge Louis' words. Does even look up until he's picked that plate clean. The way he eyes it upon finishing, Louis almost thinks that Harry's going to start licking the crumbs off of it.

 

“Satisfied?” Louis asks. And Harry only nods. Wordlessly. To which Louis nods too and waves the waiter back over. He finally collects the plate and the rest of the dirty dishes and silverware before going off, mentioning he'd bring the bill on his way back. Louis says to just put it on his tab. He left his wallet upstairs in his apartment and doesn't feel like going up to get it. He certainly feels like going upstairs, yes, but not to come back down to pay a bill _and then_ go all the way back up once again. Too much effort and he finds himself tired all of a sudden. A full stomach mixed with this bizarre sudden encounter with this Harry guy has left him drained.

 

“Well,” Louis finally says after a long moment. He places his hands on the table and pushes his seat back, standing up. “It's definitely been nice meeting you... _Harry_.” For a second, he almost forgot the man's name. “But I have to go.”

 

“Go where?” Harry asks. And Louis' is taken aback. Because he can't imagine why it'd be any of Harry's business – much less any of his interest.

 

“Upstairs to my apartment. You were right. I do live here.”

 

Harry only nods but doesn't say anything else. Doesn't even move. He merely slumps back into his seat and stares at the now cleared table. Since it doesn't seem like there'd be any more interaction between the two of them, Louis slowly moves away from the table. When he gets to the entrance of the cafe, he chances a look back. But Harry is still sitting there. In the same position. Hasn't even looked up from the table. Louis turns away and continues his trek through the hall of the first floor to get to the elevator.

 

The ride up is an uneventful one. He leans back and clutches onto the metal bars that are bolted to three of the four walls. His eyes are closed while he waits for the ding that announces his floor and then he gets out.

 

As he walks into his apartment and locks the door behind him, he starts making a mental list of things he has to do before he goes to bed. But first – a shower. Something to ease his mind. And especially drain him of his confusion and anxiety that he soaked up from downstair's encounter. He wouldn't have admitted it out loud but he was quite shaken from it. How else was he supposed to react to a stranger sitting down with him to dinner and then asking to eat his food when he went to have it disposed of by the waiter? Not to mention how shamelessly he devoured it almost as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. What was Louis supposed to think of that?

 

Inside the shower he tried to breathe deeply and remind himself that he shouldn't be thinking of anything at all. He should be relaxing and clearing his head. But outside of the shower, a ringing filled the apartment. Louis chanced to open his eyes and stalled his cloth and soap covered hand on his stomach, waiting. He wasn't sure if he had truly heard a doorbell or if he had just imagined it. He couldn't have possibly heard his apartment's doorbell – no. Because why would anyone be visiting him? Who did he know who'd even  _want_ to visit him? But, almost in answer to his questions, the doorbell went off again. This time more insistent than before.

 

Rushed and careful all at the same time, Louis got out of the shower and dried off. He dressed himself as he walked through his apartment. He can imagine how disheveled he probably looks – not having been given enough time to make himself look proper when a third doorbell ring ensued.

 

“I'm right h-” Louis shouts as he opens the door to his penthouse but the rest of his sentence is cut off short when he sees who's standing outside in the hall.

 

“ _Harry?_ ”


	2. Call It Charity

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

“This probably looks really bad,” Harry mutters. His head is down and, just like when Louis' had first laid eyes on him, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Still not looking up, he adds, “I'm really sorry and I hate to bother you but-”

 

“But how did you get up here?” Louis blurts out. “And how did you know this was my floor? Or apartment, for that matter?”

 

Louis was shocked and bewildered. His head had been reeling with tonight's events and, as he replays them once again, anxiety sets in. Suddenly, everything's starting to piece together and make sense. From the way Harry had first looked at him to the way he sat down without a second thought or even the slightest bit of awkwardness on his part.

 

“Are you stalking me?” Louis demands – not giving Harry time to answer his first two questions. But he'll give Harry time now. To answer all three.

 

“No!” Harry defensively responds. “Fuck no! I got your number from the waiter guy downstairs.”

 

“And just why the hell did you do that?” Why would he need to? What is going on?

 

Just like before, Harry doesn't immediately respond. And his gaze is still glued to the floor. He hasn't looked up once since Louis' answered the door. Not even when he stammered out his defense.

 

“Well?” Louis' prompts. The impatience and agitation is clear in his tone. He hopes the more angry he sounds, the better he can mask just how anxious and almost frightened he is. Here he has this punk ass guy outside his apartment door. No idea where he came from. Not a clue in the world as to why he'd want to follow him upstairs to his floor. No clue why he wanted to sit down to dinner with him in the first place. All the things that added up before stopped making sense all of a sudden. It's true that Louis is never one to assume but if he's bugged out enough, he'll go as far as to even claim the probability of aliens.

 

Harry sighs and for the first time since Louis answered the door, he finally looks up. He looks tired and there's more darkness under his eyes that's not just eyeliner. Louis notes that although this guy's eyes are green, there's a certain darkness to them that matches what's smudged underneath his eyelashes.

 

“Look,” he says, voice lower than what Louis has come to know is usual for him. “I just...” He pulls his hands out and rubs them together – a nervous tick – as he bites down hard on his bottom lip and turns his head to gaze down the hall. He's rocking back and forth slightly and Louis senses the same level of anxiety in Harry as is in him. It would seem they're both way out of their elements here.

 

“This is going to sound crazy,” Harry finally caves. “But I need a place to stay. Tonight.”

 

Louis' eyes widen and he tips his head back though his gaze stays fixed on Harry the whole time. Harry, who is now looking at him with pleading, desperate eyes of his own. The same kind of desperation that was in his eyes when he asked to finish off the dinner that Louis didn't want because it had gotten cold.

 

“You want to stay here?” Louis asks. And Harry nods. “In my apartment?” Another nod. “ _Sleep_ here?” Harry nods again. “But why?”

 

The desperation is fading into frustration. Quickly.

 

“Look, I'm not going to tell you anything unless you let me in. Okay?”

 

“No,” Louis incredulously responds. “No, _not okay_. You're a complete stranger and you want to walk into my home without an explanation?”

 

“I'll give you an explanation,” Harry presses. “But not unless staying here tonight is a sure thing.” His gaze slips downwards once again and he mutters – to himself, mostly, but Louis catches it, “I don't need random strangers knowing my business.”

 

“Stranger?” Louis repeats. Eyes widening even more. _Random_ stranger, at that. “ _I'm_ the stranger? The only thing random about this situation is the entirety of it. Some random guy – you, a stranger too, in case you weren't already aware – randomly looks up at me. Randomly sits down at my table. Randomly asks for my food. Randomly gets my place of residence from an equally random waiter. And randomly shows up at my door when I'm trying to take a shower. Then _randomly asks to spend the night._ The only thing _random_ and _strange_ here is you.”

 

Harry makes a face and the next move he makes is pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He sucks in a ragged breath and then stoops down. Louis watches the spectacle – anxiety from before rising when he realizes that Harry's crying.

 

_Shit. W_ hat was he even supposed to do now?

 

“God, fine, okay.” Louis reluctantly reaches out and pulls the guy up by his shoulders. He sidesteps to give Harry room to walk into his apartment. He doesn't move at first, however, so Louis has to give him a shove in the right direction. Although he stumbles over the threshold, he doesn't move much father than that. He just shuffles to the side of the door and stands there, rubbing his hands into his eyes. His breathing is still labored and after closing the door, Louis just doesn't know what to do from there.

 

The ensuing moments are quite awkward. Almost unbearably so.

 

With a sigh, Louis asks, “Do you want to at least sit down?” When Harry nods, he reaches out again to take Harry by the shoulders and guide him into the living room. He gives Harry yet another shove – more gentle this time than before – and Harry flops onto the sofa. He immediately folds in on himself – removing his hands from his eyes to tuck them under his chest while he leans forward to press his head to his knees. Judging by the slight tremors that shake Harry's body, Louis assumes he's still crying. He also takes note of just how pathetic he looks sitting there. The entire time following his second encounter with Harry has been pretty pathetic altogether.

 

Louis just doesn't know what to make of it. He's finding his first words to Harry appropriate even still –

 

“ _I'm not sure what I'm meant to think of this._ ”

 

Even in Harry's obviously delicate state, Louis' hazards a chance at getting out that explanation he had been promised. Harry finally looks up when Louis mentions it. He no longer has an expression of desperation in his eyes. Now he just looks as tired and drained as Louis had felt before taking a shower.

 

With a shrug, Harry mutters, “I'm homeless, I guess.”

 

“ _You guess._ ” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“It's either you are or you aren't. There's no _guessing_ about these kinds of things.” Louis can't believe what he's hearing. And he can't believe he's entertaining this kind of conversation. Even more bewildering still is the night and its entirety and all the events that have led him up to this moment.

 

“Well.” Harry leans back into the couch, sinking so far into the cushions that he looks like he's trying to force himself to disappear into the fabric. He shifts his arms so they're resting around his middle. Hugging himself, almost. “I came here...to see a friend. But they. You know.” 

 

Louis can see how hard a time Harry is having with his words and for a split second he almost feels bad for the guy. But then he remembers that this very guy expects to crash at his place for the night – all because  _he guesses_ that he's homeless.

 

“No,” Louis answers. “I don't know, actually.”

 

Harry shakes his head and turns his gaze so that he doesn't have to look Louis in the eye as he continues his explanation.

 

“They moved, I guess.”

 

A lot of guessing going on.

 

“So why don't you just go home then?” Louis asks. He feels like it might be a stupid question but, then again, Harry isn't exactly being accommodating with the details he's sharing. Clearly there's more happening than he's letting on to. But if he plans on staying with Louis for the night, he better start talking.

 

“That's funny,” Harry mutters. It goes without saying that he doesn't actually laugh. “I can't just click my heels together and poof! I'm back in Santa Monica.”

 

“Santa Monica,” Louis repeats. “That's in California.” Harry just nods. “You came all the way to New York from bum fuck California?”

 

Harry shrugs and says softly, “I had reasons.”

 

“Well clearly they weren't very good ones.”

 

Turning his gaze back to Louis, his face has turned into an expression of absolute pain and heartbreak and, for a second, he almost looks like he's going to cry again. And although Louis feels sorry, he doesn't say so. Instead he just furrows his brows and puts his hands on his hips.

 

“Just who were you trying to visit anyway?”

 

“I already told you,” Harry responds. His voice sounds strained. It makes his already deep voice sound deeper. And raspy. Louis will attribute that to all the tears Harry's apparently trying to hold back. “I was visiting a friend. And they moved.”

 

“They moved without telling you.”

 

“Yeah.” Harry takes a long moment before he finally adds, “We haven't spoken in a few years.”

 

It takes all the strength Louis could ever possibly muster not to roll his eyes back so far in his head he loses his balance and tips over. He sees where this is going. Can almost finish for himself the explanation of what's happening here. But he'll give Harry the benefit of the doubt. Clinging on to some small hope that he's not going to be left responsible for someone's irresponsibility and complete fuck up.

 

“How many years is _a few_?” Louis asks, already dreading the answer.

 

“I don't know,” Harry mutters again with another shrug. “Maybe four or five?”

 

Louis' eyes widen. Maybe if he keeps them stretched like this, he can manage not to roll them like he's had the urge to moments ago.

 

“How old are you even anyway?”

 

“Seventeen.”

 

_Jesus fucking Christ_ .

 

Now Louis can truly fill in the rest of the blanks himself. He doesn't need to give Harry the benefit of the doubt anymore and, to be quite frank, he doesn't even want to. Regrets giving it to him in the first place.

 

“You said they were a friend?” Harry nods. “And you loved this friend, didn't you?” Harry hesitates for a long second before he nods again. And he's back to biting his lip – the same way he did outside in the hallway before he let his tears flow.

 

_Please, for the love of god, don't do it_ .

 

But he does. Harry's leaning down again with his hands pressed to his eyes. Unlike before, however, he's audibly sobbing. When he first arrived, he had been biting his cries back. Just silently tearing up and shaking with tremors from the effort it took to hold back any noises he might possibly make. He was trying not to cry then but he's given up on that now. Now he's just letting it all out. And Louis isn't quite sure what to do with himself. Or with Harry, for that matter.

 

This is a situation he just really doesn't want to deal with. And, within seconds, Louis decides that he's not going to.

 

“Okay, look kid, you can stay the night.” Louis pauses and stares at Harry. He was hoping that maybe since he's getting what he wants, he'll stop crying. But he doesn't. “Did you hear me?” He still doesn't get a verbal response. But he sees Harry nods his head. Or is he really shaking that badly from crying that he can't control his movements anymore? Either way, Louis decides it doesn't make a bit of difference because he's done with this conversation and done with this guy sitting on his couch. He should have been done from the moment Harry sat down at his dinner table because, really, who does that?

 

A “homeless” teenager still clinging on to a fake first love, apparently.

 

Louis doesn't know much about Harry but he thinks that this is a good way to judge his character. Given the fact that he didn't have the chance to shake Harry's hand earlier – can't judge him by that then.

 

“You can sleep on the couch,” Louis mutters as he begins to walk away. He's not going to bother with getting Harry a blanket. Not even a pillow. God only knows how long Harry's been hanging around in the city – he's probably slept hunched against a garbage can for all Louis can imagine. Curled up on the couch in just his sweater is probably a blessing in comparison.

 

A blessing, surely – that reminds him...

 

“You can call this an act of charity,” Louis adds, recalling their initial exchange from earlier that night. “Now the favor's been returned.”

 

Without another word, Louis flicks the light switch to the living room and the still quaking figure on the couch is shrouded in darkness. Louis gives Harry one last look before turning to retire to his bedroom. He had a whole long list of things he wanted to do before bed but all hope of getting those things done have since been lost. Now Louis just wants to go to bed and hope that Harry'll be gone by the time he has to wake up for work in the morning.


	3. Stranded

_Harry's POV_

 

* * * * *

 

I reached into my pocket and pulled the letter out

I read it over end again to myself and then out loud

I found myself standing still in the front yard of your house

I looked into the windows and hung my head in doubt

Oh no, this is abandoned; I'm stranded all alone

 

* * * * *

 

It hadn't seemed stupid at the time. Silly? Maybe. Desperate? Definitely. But Harry had never thought to consider his impulsive act _stupid_. It never crossed his mind until this guy – Louis was his name – made him feel like shit about it. Louis had turned out the light to the living room and left him in physical darkness that matched the metaphorical darkness he felt within himself.

 

Harry had kept crying for awhile after that. He didn't know how long. His phone has since died between leaving Santa Monica and bumming around on the streets for a few nights after finding out his friend had moved away from his prior place of residence. So he couldn't use that as a source of time. There wasn't a clock around in the living room that he could see. Didn't even want to take a chance on turning on the television to check the time because god knows Louis is the kind of guy who likes to crank the volume and sound would come blaring out of the speakers.

 

No, it's probably best for Harry to lay still and suffer.

 

Something he had been doing since he arrived in New York. Something he hadn't counted on doing before he left. But that's just how these things happen.

 

Maybe Harry should have called. But he had since lost his friend's number. The only remnants he had of his friend was a few pictures and this letter he sent. There was Harry's home address – that was the same. He hadn't moved. But then there was Niall's. That had changed. He had moved. And now, because of that move, Harry was left stranded in New York with nowhere to go and no way to get back home.

 

It was a stupid move on his part. Louis made sure to make him feel that stupidity. On top of all the other feelings he had raging inside of him. Feelings that had been left to fester in his lack of anything else to do while he wandered the streets of New York.

 

The past few days had been rough. He didn't know where to go. At first he was almost too proud to ask anyone for help. Too proud, almost. But pride aside, how would he have explained his situation anyway? Everyone would have just acted the same way Louis did. They'd tell him how stupid he was and how his reasons for trying to visit his friend were just as stupid. Harry already feels like shit enough. No need to openly subject himself to getting it all rubbed in by strangers.

 

So he slept tucked in corners and in the hallways of rundown, unlocked apartments. He even managed to squat for one night. It took a few scrapes on his legs and stomach to crawl through the shattered window but that was better than being scared for his life of being shot up for no good reason. Harry knew he couldn't keep doing this, though. Couldn't keep hiding himself between dumpsters or technically breaking into apartments that, from the dawning morning light, could be seen weren't anywhere near up to code. Harry could have stayed in that one particular apartment for awhile – but then what about food? He had been starving.

 

It's why he had so shamelessly asked for the food Louis didn't intend of finishing. His entire situation is why he approached Louis in the first place. He had looked over the building – searching for a familiar name or at least one that seemed remotely fancy. He thought it was a hotel at first but then realized it was an apartment building. It was a stretch to assume that anyone eating in the cafe lived somewhere on the floors above it, but even more of a stretch was coming to New York in the first place. At that point in time, Harry really had nothing else left to lose.

 

Those were the incidents leading up to Harry sleeping on Louis' couch.

 

One day he started missing an old friend out of nowhere – one whom he's convinced was his first love; true love, even – and it didn't go away. Didn't subside. Only got worse. So he decided to visit that friend. Buses aren't that expensive. He had the money. To get to New York, at least. He hadn't thought to bring any extra because he hadn't considered the possibility that maybe Niall had moved again. But he had. So there Harry was left without food and shelter. He couldn't stand it any longer so he took a leap of faith on the first person he saw who looked like money.

 

See, the way Harry looked at it, is if the person had money then maybe they had come from rough roots. They'd take pity on a practically homeless youth. After all, they can relate to having it hard too, right?

 

That is, of course, unless that particular youth was practically homeless because of his own irresponsibility and stupidity. Then maybe he deserves the cold, shivering body and empty stomach. And perhaps Louis does think that's what Harry deserves. But at least he let Harry stay the night. He could have kicked him out. Harry knows it. He's also very well aware of the fact that he could easily be kicked out in the morning. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he'd better start coming up with a way to stick around Louis' for the time being. At least long enough to figure out a way to get home.

 

Harry has since unfolded himself from his sitting position and laid with his legs stretched out across the couch and over the arm rest. He tucks his arms underneath his head and stares up at the ceiling. His mind is racing with this and that thought but at least one of those thoughts surfaced prominently in his mind.

 

He'd definitely have to work something out with Louis the following morning.

 

* * * * *

 

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Upon waking up, the last thing Louis expects to see is someone sleeping on his couch. In fact, he hardly even notices the body curled up there as he rushes by from his bedroom on his way to the front door. It isn't until he registers that he wasn't just seeing things in his groggy haste – no, there actually really is someone laying on his couch.

 

Louis stop short, hand on the handle to the front door of his apartment, and he slowly turns around, gaze reluctantly focusing on the hooded figure on his couch. And just like that, the events of the night before come rushing back in a frenzy.

 

He just doesn't have time for this. Not today. It's a fucking Tuesday, for Christ's sake. Of all mornings to have some kid sleeping on his couch, it has to be a _Tuesday_ morning. He has meetings on Tuesdays. Louis has meetings on all days of the week, admittedly, but that's just all the more reason to kick this kid off the couch. Can't have him here this morning. Or tomorrow morning. Or the following morning. Or – well, the idea is pretty clear.

 

Moving away from the door, Louis uses the hand he was going to let himself with to nudge the kid on his shoulder. When Harry doesn't immediate stir, Louis jumps straight to using both his hands to shake the kid violently until he wakes up with a loud, startled noise. His green eyes are wild as he stares as Louis in confusion and fright.

 

“So I held up my end,” Louis says, dropping his hands from Harry's shoulders to rest at his sides. “It's time for you to go. Honestly, I thought you would have been gone by now.”

 

Harry squints and mutters, “Where the fuck am I going to go? If I had somewhere to go, I wouldn't have been there in the first place.”

 

 _Fair enough_ , Louis thinks. But that's honestly not his problem. What is his problem, however, is some kid sleeping on his couch. Another problem is almost being late for work. He will be if he doesn't kick Harry out and fast.

 

“Look, I've got a job. Got shit to do. I didn't get this penthouse apartment for free and that couch you're sleeping on is actually very expensive. I paid for all of this with the job I just mentioned. And I could easily lose said job if I don't arrive on time. So again: It's time for you to go.”

 

Harry doesn't immediately move but as he watches Louis' expression turn from tired frustration to borderline anger, he finally gets up.

 

“Fine,” Harry mutters. He's tucking his hands back into his pockets. Just like he had done the night before. Shuffling to the door with Louis hot on his heels, he adds, “I'll probably be back now.”

 

Despite how tired Louis is, he actually laughs at that. Like Harry had just told a genuine joke. And, he guesses that Harry really did. The kid's entire predicament was a joke. Along with his intentions and his love for his friend that he hadn't seen in – what? Four years? Five? Louis would feel bad for him if it wasn't for how stupid the situation was. How stupid _Harry_ was. He only did it to himself. It's his own damn fault.

 

“Oh, no you won't,” Louis says in response to Harry's last statement. “You're going to take your underage ass back to Santa Monica. To mommy and daddy. To the friends you actually know for sure live where they say they live.”

 

Louis doesn't have to be so mean. Doesn't have to take stabs at Harry's already miserable situation. But he doesn't want Harry to come crawling back to him and expects to stay the night. Again. No fucking way is Louis going to start giving handouts to every stupid teenager that crosses his path. It's just not happening. Despite what he said last night, he's not a fucking charity.

 

“Move your ass,” Louis mutters with a swift shove to Harry's back. That gave him the leverage to push Harry out the last bit of his apartment. Without sparing Harry a second glance, Louis locks the door and starts walking down the hall towards the elevator.

 

With the door locked, he doesn't worry about Harry. Doesn't even think about him the entire way to work or that whole morning. In fact, Harry doesn't start to surface in his memory until later on in the day when he's just a few hours away from getting out of work. Anxiety starts to set in when he wonders if Harry will be there waiting for him or if he'll show up later again that night with another shower surprise. He wishes he could wash his hands of this kid the way he had washed his hair. Louis curses his naivety. He wishes he had known how badly he'd end up regretting letting this kid sit with him for dinner. Louis keeps circling back to that. How he should have sent the kid away. Told him to fuck off. Got someone to remove him from the building, at least. He didn't live there so he didn't belong on the premises.

 

But Louis had done none of that and now he was paying for it. And sorely, too. But not as sorely as he felt when he exited the elevator that night upon coming home from work and saw none other than Harry sitting on the floor next to his apartment door, slumped against the wall with his hood pulled over his head.

 

Louis can't fucking believe it.

 

* * * * *

 

 _ **Note:**_ Lyrics in the beginning of this chapter is from Stranded by Hawthorne Heights. You can't have angsty punk!Harry without Hawthorne Heights. You just can't.

 

Also: Sorry for so much filler. It was either get it out in this chapter through Harry's thought process or have you guys sit through it in the form of dialogue next chapter. I thought this way was best!


	4. You're Stuck Here Now

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Standing at one end of the hall, still staring at Harry, Louis says out loud, “You have got to be kidding me.”

 

Harry doesn't move. Doesn't even look up. He just calls out a “nope” that's muffled against his arms that his head is resting on.

 

“What did I say this morning?” Louis demands as he walks towards his apartment door – and Harry along with it.

 

“What did _I_ say?” Harry shoots back, finally lifting his head. “I told you this morning that I'd probably be back.”

 

“And I told _you_ that you better not.”

 

“Would it make a difference if I said I had never left then?”

 

Louis had since unlocked the door to his penthouse but his hand stalls on the knob of the door that's been pushed open ever so slight. He stares down at Harry who's looking up at him. He looks more exhausted now than he did last night. Even more than Louis felt this morning. For a kid who didn't do much – _couldn't_ do much – he sure got tired easily.

 

“So what did you do?” Louis asks. “Did you just sit outside my door the entire day?” Harry shrugs but then nods.

 

“Basically,” he mutters.

 

This kid is something else. But all things considered, Louis can't really blame him. Far too drained from his day at work to bother, really.

 

“Okay, look,” Louis starts, opening the door to his penthouse wider. “I'm going to drop my shit into the house and change. Wait out here.”

 

Harry follows Louis into the penthouse with his eyes, exhaustion turning to curiosity. But he doesn't ask to go in with Louis. Harry, instead, stays in his spot on the floor and only looks away once Louis has closed the door behind him. True to his word, Louis returns a handful of minutes later in a pair of sweatpants and a band shirt. Even a man that looked like money such as Louis could manage to dress down, apparently.

 

“Let's go,” Louis says, walking towards the elevator where he had come from, beckoning Harry to come along with him. He gets to his feet and follows the shorter man across the hall. He doesn't say anything or ask questions the entire time spent in the elevator. Even when confusion set in as to why they're both going _up_ instead of _down_. Harry had been under the impression that Louis was going to go back down into the diner like he had been the night before – and hopefully offering Harry some food too. But that's not what's happening here. Clarity doesn't come even when the elevator doors open revealing a small room and a glass door.

 

Stepping out of the elevator and opening the door of the small room, Louis steps back to allow Harry room to walk.

 

“Hope you're not scared of heights,” Louis mutters as Harry walks past him. To which he receives only a shrug in response.

 

Much to Harry's shock, the door Louis had opened up for him leads out onto the rooftop of the building. In front of him and all around are plants and gardens of various flowers and even veggies. In the center of the rooftop is a nice sitting area with well-cushioned seats and lounge chairs. There's even a few small fountains here and there. In the dimming light of the sky, it looks rather pretty. Harry almost feels out of place – his rough appearance contrasting with all the bright colors among the green. Even the lone person already occupying the sitting area gives him a dirty look from where she sits with her laptop teetering on her knees.

 

“It looks even better at night,” Louis mentions as he steps around Harry to get to the sitting area. “The entire rooftop is lit up.” He points. “Look into some of the plants. There's little lights strung through them.” He points elsewhere. “And there's solar powered lights lining the paths.” Harry follows Louis on such paths and looks down to see that there are, in fact, neat rows of small lights just outside of the paved paths. For a city that Harry has come to know as drab and dirty, this rooftop garden was a pleasant change. Maybe he's just been hanging around the wrong parts of the city. It would seem that apartments like these are common in this side of the city.

 

“I spend a lot of my time up here,” Louis continues. “In fact, I hardly ever go down into that cafe. I just thought I'd switch it up for one night. But...” he trails off and focuses a glare on Harry as he sinks down into one of the seats, having reached the sitting area. “Clearly that didn't work out for me when I did it last night so I'm hardly going to hazard a chance at it again. I already have one kid on my hands. Wouldn't want to have another.”

 

Harry only rolls his eyes in response. Louis' is acting like he gets homeless teens thrown at him all the time. He doesn't but, really, isn't one already too many?

 

The two fall into silence after that. But it's not as awkward was one might think. It's rather pleasant, actually, and Louis is grateful that he can have his usual quiet time up on the roof – even if he's being joined by this kid sitting across from him. Of course, there's always one or two people in the sitting area with him on any other given night, such as the woman with her laptop, but he never feels obligated to talk to them. Harry's a little different like that. Louis feels like he needs to accommodate Harry with some kind of entertainment or conversation and, as pleasant as the silence had been for the first few minutes, awkwardness does eventually start to creep into the atmosphere.

 

“So what are you going to do?” Louis asks. He has his arms stretched to either side on the back of the seat. He's leaning far back into the cushions with one leg balanced over the other, almost making a figure 4.

 

“Would it be too far of a stretch to ask if I can stay the night again?” Harry's expression is cautious, but hopeful.

 

“Honestly?” Harry nods. “Yeah, it would. I didn't even intend to let you stay last night but I was far too tired and not in the mood to bother discussing the situation with you. Didn't have enough energy in me to kick you out, either. You got lucky last night.”

 

“I know,” Harry mutters with a sigh. “Like, I get that. Believe me. I do. But...” He trails off and looks around the roof, almost as if the words he can't seem to come up with can be found within the bushes and flowers of the garden.

 

“I can finish explaining,” Harry eventually says. “I said I'd give you an explanation if you let me crash. You did that. But I never finished my explanation.”

 

With a shrug, Louis responds, “Be my guest, then.”

 

So Harry launches into a monologue of his thought process from last night, telling Louis what happened after he found out his friend had moved away and how he had been (barely) living the past couple of days. How those few days alone had been what forced him to let go of his pride enough to be so shameless in his approach to Louis. Harry filled in all the blanks that he hadn't had the chance to explain last night before Louis turned in for bed early.

 

When Harry finished, he was left sitting in silence with Louis like before. Harry looks across the sitting area with an expectant expression. Louis merely turns away and starts rubbing a hand across the stubble that's grown just a bit more since last night. Eventually he turns his gaze back to Harry and he shrugs.

 

“I don't know what you want me to do,” Louis says softly. “There's really nothing I _can_ do.”

 

“Help me?” Harry tries.

 

“I can't have a seventeen year old kid living on my couch,” Louis responds. And the two of them notice at the same time the dirty look the woman sitting with them is passing their way. It's similar to the look she had given Harry when he walked onto the roof but this time it's just a little bit more disgusted.

 

“Hey!” Louis calls out. He points a finger at her. “Why don't you mind your own damn business?”

 

Her brows furrow and her disgusted expression turns to one of shock and then anger.

 

“So rude!” she calls back. In the following moments she's closing her laptop and getting to her feet, rushing to the door that leads to the elevator. Harry and Louis watch her in silence and don't speak up again until she's gone and out of sight.

 

Gesturing towards where the woman had disappeared, Louis mutters, “And this is exactly why I can't have you sleeping on my couch.”

 

“No one has to know,” Harry presses. “I mean, except maybe my parents. Who I would have called by now but my phone died along the way. I used up all its juice to entertain myself during the bus trip over.”

 

“You didn't bother bringing your charger?”

 

“I didn't think to bring anything,” he admits. “I didn't think I'd have to. I thought when I got to my friend's house I could use his phone and just...” He shrugs. “I thought I'd be covered.”

 

“Are you always this impulsive?” To which Harry responds by pressing his lips together and shrugging again. Continuing to rub across his chin in though, he eventually caves in. “Alright, fine. I'll let you use my phone to call your parents. But then what?”

 

“Hopefully they'll come and pick me up. Or send money at least.”

 

By the way Harry looks at Louis, he almost thinks that Harry's hinting at Louis offering him money. And although that would be the easy way out – the quickest way to get himself out of this situation – he didn't owe this kid anything. He already let Harry sleep on his couch. He'll probably end up letting him sleep on his couch again tonight after the kid calls his parents. Louis can't possibly be expected to give the kid money to get back home on top of everything else.

 

It's totally out of the question and Louis won't give it a second thought until it comes time to cut his losses. The moment giving this kid money to get home begins to be cheaper than keeping him around while he waits for his parents, that's when Louis will consider it. But as of right now, such is not the case.

 

“Come on then,” Louis finally says with a sigh. He heaves himself up onto his feet and starts walking to the door to the elevator. As he goes, he mentions, “I'll make you something to eat while you call your parents.”

 

Louis looks back to see if Harry has gotten up from his own seat and started following him but he turns his gaze soon enough to be able to catch the look of delight that flashes across Harry's face at the mention of food. It's almost enough to make Louis smile himself. He knows what it's like to starve. But more by choice. Long hours and even longer days spent on equally long, arduous projects. His stomach had ran on empty many times throughout his career out of time and convenience. This teenage boy who probably eats his parents out of house and home is starving not out of choice but out of lack of food. And options, it would seem. Louis hadn't even been an option, really. Louis was a byproduct of slight chance. Harry got lucky and Louis has already since reminded him of that. At least the kid hasn't been ungrateful.

 

Once the two of them are back inside Louis' penthouse, Harry holds out his hand with an expectant expression. Louis merely looks down at it and asks, “What?”

 

“Your phone,” Harry prompts.

 

Recognition lights up on Louis face before he's shaking his head.

 

“Oh, no,” Louis responds. “You're not using my cell phone. You can use the phone that's in my office. Down the hall. You'll find it.”

 

As Harry goes in the direction that Louis has directed him in, he spreads his arms out so his fingertips graze the wall and he says, “Ooh, a home office. I was right about you. Mr. Rich Businessman.”

 

Unlike on the rooftop moments ago, Louis actually smiles this time. The sound of Harry's deep voice making an _ooh_ sound is silly. But charming.

 

Louis decides to make the kid some ramen. Something quick and easy. And cheap – being that he's still bent on spending as least as he can on Harry's presence in his home. While he waits for the water to boil, he sinks against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. Leaning his head against the cupboards behind him, he lefts himself relax for the first time since he's had his initial encounter with Harry. The tension between them seemed to have evaporated. Harry's calmed down since he won't be sleeping on the streets tonight and has a way to get in touch with his parents. Louis' anxieties have subsided because of his hope that Harry's parents will jump into the car to come get him the moment they hang up from his call. The two of them are both getting what they want and because of it the strained atmosphere has eased.

 

Harry doesn't enter the kitchen the entire time that Louis spends making his dinner. Louis admittedly finds it a little odd. He thought that the phone call would be a quick one but then it occurs to him that Harry without a doubt left in the night or while his parents weren't home. Louis won't pay to send the kid back but he would pay good money to bet that his parents had no idea Harry even left or where he ended up. They're probably still on the phone with Harry right now, yelling at him through the receiver about how irresponsible Harry has been. Promises of being grounded for life will likely ensue – and Harry's so close to being legal, too. It's almost a shame.

 

These thoughts among many others flit through Louis' mind as he dumps the ramen into a bowl and, with it, a spoon, before carrying it out of the kitchen and into the living room. He nearly walks right past the touch, thinking that Harry is still in his office, but stops when he recognizes that increasingly familiar hooded figure slumped over on the couch. He stops, bowl suspended in the air, and stares down at Harry. Another thing that's become all too familiar is how Harry hunches over when he cries. Shivering and quaking. It's what he's doing now and Louis puts the bowl down with a long sigh before taking a seat on the couch next to Harry.

 

“What now?” Louis asks.

 

Instead of a response in words, Louis gets audible sobs and cries – something Harry hadn't been doing until Louis sat down and spoke up.

 

He doesn't want to – really, he doesn't – but Louis stretches his hand out and hesitantly places it onto Harry's back. He begins moving it up and down in what he hopes are soothing motions. Louis wouldn't know what's soothing and what's not, really. He's never been in a position to comfort anyone. But he'll bite the bullet just this once. He has something at stake here. The sooner he gets Harry to calm down the sooner he'll find out why Harry's crying instead of rambling on about how his parents are on their way to pick him up right now.

 

“They're not fucking coming,” Harry eventually chokes out.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

After a few more sobs, Harry repeats himself. And once Louis asks what he means, Harry clarifies by launching into an over-emotionally induced ramble – Harry's already deep voice sounding much deeper; his tears having made his tone thick.

 

“They yelled at me the whole time. The second I told him who it was. That it was me calling. My dad immediately started yelling at me. And then once my mom found out it was me on the other line – because my dad told her, you know; she asked and he said...he literally fucking said... 'It's our goddamn fucking useless piece of shit son.' She started yelling in the background. They both started going at me and I didn't even have a chance to explain myself. Near the end of it my dad asked me what I was going to do now and I...I knew it was hopeless at that point but. But I asked anyway. I asked if they could come get me. Or send money. Or _something_. And he laughed. He fucking laughed at me. And then he started yelling again. Said that there'd be no point because him and my mom had been planning on kicking me out anyway. He told me I'm stuck here now. And then he hung up.”

 

Once Harry was finished, he went back to sobbing. Even louder than before. His shakes had become more violent too. Although Harry was beyond the point of comfort, Louis kept his hand on the kid's back and continued rubbing. All the while he started across the room at the wall with a shocked expression on his face. His mouth had dropped open after Harry had finished his ramble. And Louis couldn't believe what had happened.

 

“What kind of parents-” Louis start but he's cut off by Harry pushing himself up off the couch, slapping Louis' arm away in the process, and standing up straight, gesturing frantically to himself.

 

“Come on, Louis. Fucking _look at me_. You think any parent wants their son looking like this?” Harry brings his hands up to his face and rubs aggressively at his skin – almost as if rubbing hard enough will scrub his identity away. “Do you think any parent wants their son to be like me?”

 

Louis doesn't respond. _Can't_ respond. Because he doesn't know Harry. Doesn't know what kind of son he is. And in that moment, Louis realizes there's a lot more happening than Harry was letting on to. Despite the extended “explanation” Harry had given him up on the rooftop, clearly there was more to the story. More details he hadn't divulged yet.

 

But Louis didn't even have to ask. Because Harry continued with his crying and rambling. He seemed to be the person that once the waterworks broke, he couldn't stop to save his or anyone's life. Normally Louis hates people like that but he can forgive it just this once. He needs to know what's going on. Needs to know what other information Harry is withholding.

 

“Niall was my last ditch effort,” Harry manages. “Things had been getting worse and worse and I was so fucking close to just...” He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his hair. He starts pulling on it as he continues. “I couldn't stand it. Couldn't take it anymore. And I was trying to...trying to remember some nice things...think of the good stuff, you know? Look on the bright side. But everything I came up with was from my past. Shit that was all dead and gone by now. And that's when I remembered Niall. I remembered who close we had been when we lived down the street from each other. Before he had moved away. I thought that if we were close then – even though we had lost contact with each other – we couldn't still be close now. Friendships like that just don't fade away, do they?” Harry pauses but Louis doesn't answer. He supposes that Harry's question is rhetorical one. That's why he stays silent. If Louis were to speak up, though, it'd be to tell Harry to quit yanking at his hair before he goes bald, but Harry has since ceased the hair pulling. Now they're back into his pockets where they seemed to live and Harry's pacing back and forth.

 

It seems the movement is enough to calm him. Harry's since stopped talking but he hasn't started crying again. Both are all fine by Louis. He's content to just sit quietly on the couch while Harry walks it out in front of him. Harry's lost in his thoughts. Louis' lost in his own. Mostly wondering what's going to happen now that Harry's parents aren't coming to pick him up. The plan really had been to cut his losses. But now it would seem Louis can't do that. Because even if he did give Harry money, his parents wouldn't accept them back into their home. Not when he said they had been planning on kicking him out anyway.

 

Louis doesn't even wonder what it is about Harry that makes his parents hate him so much. Because although he doesn't know Harry that well, he does know that Harry's not the problem. There's always that possibility that Harry genuinely is a bad kid, of course, but Louis very much doubts that. Of all the parents and kids that get into fights with each other on a daily basis, none of those kids are genuinely bad people. It's been ten years since Louis was Harry's age but he hasn't forgotten about the fights he used to get into with his own mum. Things were hard on both of them. She had a home to take care of and mouths to feed. He had puberty and pressure, confusion, and anxieties about everything in the world and the years he was going to spend living in it. Neither of them could see eye to eye on things because they both thought they had it the hardest. From what Louis gathers of the situation Harry finds himself in, he can imagine that Harry's going through the same shit with his own parents.

 

Sighing, Louis gets to his feet and pushes the bowl of ramen across the table. It's since gotten cold but he's not going to make more.

 

“Eat your food,” Louis says softly. “I'll get you a pillow and a blanket.” Turning to go do just that, he adds, “We'll figure this out in the morning.”

 

By the time Louis gets back, Harry has taken his seat on the couch where he had been before. He's hunched over and slowly eating his ramen. Louis was right when he thought about how Harry hadn't been ungrateful this entire time he's been trailing after Louis for hospitality. Harry ate cold leftover food last night and he's eating cold food tonight too. He's not complaining about what little he can get. And that alone is enough to convince Louis that there's not a bad bone in Harry's body. Although his heavily modified appearance would state otherwise, Louis has gotten many a chance to gaze through the tattoos and piercings and see the mere boy that lies underneath it all.

 

Louis lays the blanket and pillow down on the cushion next to Harry. Neither of them look at each other. Harry's focus is on his dinner and Louis' own focus is his office down the hall. He'd leave Harry to it.

 

“You can watch the television,” Louis mutters as he turns to go occupy himself with after hours work tasks. As much as Louis didn't want to over-provide for Harry, he's softened up significantly since last night. Given the circumstances – considering Harry is already in a very hard place right now – Louis would have to be some kind of monster to make things harder for this teenaged boy.

 

Sitting down and opening up his Email, reading off the names and addresses of people he's screwed over in the past and is currently in the process of screwing over in the present, Louis wonders to himself when he had suddenly grown a heart. He's never crumbled under any expression of emotional until very recently – doing so is just bad for business and even worse for his bank account. But Louis supposes he can forgive himself for letting down his walls just a tiny little bit for a kid who's already in a pretty vulnerable position himself.

 

Louis would never even think of doing this for anyone else. He wouldn't say that Harry has broken something in him but he's definitely starting to wear on Louis' cool, indifferent nature. Only at the tender age of seventeen, the world and the people in it had already started breaking Harry in. Louis' not going to take it upon himself to do the same. The kid's parents seem to have that much covered already.

 

* * * * *

 

 _ **Note:**_ The next chapter has the kind of content we all die waiting for; anticipate it c:


	5. Impulsive Tendencies

_Harry's POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Harry's certainly grateful for Louis' sudden acts of kindness. Louis didn't have to feed him. Didn't have to give him a pillow or blanket either. And he _definitely_ didn't need to give Harry permission to watch his television. But he did. And Harry appreciates that a lot. Even if Louis is only doing it out of pity for him. Harry's in no place to be proud. He'll take what he can get at this point. Considering now he is legitimately homeless. His dad kicked him out over the phone. And now – as his dad had stated – he's stuck there.

 

Mindlessly flicking through channels, Harry's not even paying attention to what flashes across the screen. He's more caught up in his own thoughts. He doesn't care about the news. He cares about where Niall has possibly moved to. He's not interested in what bogus thing some celebrity said in response to a paparazzi. He's interested in whether or not Niall lives close by – or at least in the same city. Or did he move to another state entirely again? Another thing he doesn't care to watch on television is a reality show where a winner gets rewards half a million dollars. He doesn't even have a place to live anymore and no money to get anywhere. He definitely doesn't care to think about what others could be doing with the handful of dollars they'll have left after tax deductions.

 

With a sigh, Harry leans up from his lying position and turns the television off before gently resting the remote on the coffee table in front of him. He sits quietly for a moment, arms crossed in his lap as he leans on his elbows, staring down at his shoes he still hasn't bothered to taken off. For a second he finds him wondering if Louis will be bothered by him wearing shoes in his apartment. But that thought quickly disappears when he comes to conclusion that dirty shoes tracking all over rugs and floors is the least of Louis' problems when he has some kid having to sleep on his couch.

 

But they'd figure out, wouldn't hey? Isn't that what Louis said? If Harry remembers right, Louis' exact words were, “ _We'll figure this out in the morning._ ”

 

When Louis had first spoke those words, Harry's heart had jumped in his chest a little bit. Because for once since Harry has been hanging around Louis' apartment and building, he didn't feel like such a burden. Louis had said “we” as in both of them. They were going to work this out together. And that made Harry feel a little less shitty about the situation he found himself in. He had been alone in Santa Monica. Had been alone when he left. Alone when he arrived. Never felt so alone and abandoned and without hope once he found out his friend didn't live at his prior address anymore. And he was very, very alone when he was bumming around on the streets for several days. Finally Harry was feeling a tiny glimmer of hope that things will be okay. And he won't have to figure it all out for himself. Harry hasn't had support for _anything_ in such a long time. Even if it's just this stranger helping him in such an unfortunate situation, at least it's something. Something that, for a split second, makes it feel like the whole world isn't against him.

 

Harry takes a deep breath as he stands to his feet. He pulls the hood to his sweater over his head and then starts walking down the hall Louis had disappeared to after he had been given a pillow and blanket. His steps slow down, however, when he sees how dark the hall and all the rooms are. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he shrinks down into his sweater just a bit more and starts peeking into each of the rooms, peering into the darkness to see if he could catch a glimpse of a small form that could belong to Louis. He finds nothing in any of these open rooms and, when he comes across a closed door, he mentally kicks himself for not realizing how late it probably is. Louis could have gone to bed for all Harry knows. It's not like the older man was obligated to say good night or anything. This closed door more than likely leads to his bedroom.

 

Given the fact that such is probably the case, it'd not only be stupid of Harry to intrude but also rather rude. Here he is eating this man's food and sleeping on his couch – now he's creeping around Louis' apartment? If something goes missing, Louis could easily accuse Harry of stealing it, not realizing until after he had kicked him out that, oh, the object was just misplaced. And now the poor kid's sleeping on the streets again.

 

Harry already finds himself in a worst case scenario and all nagging thoughts aside, he can't imagine anything getting any worse. So curiosity prevails.

 

Pulling out his right hand from pocket, he reaches forward and goes to turn the knob to the door, opening it slowly. You know someone has good money if none of their doors creak upon being opened. This door – the one that did, in fact, lead to a bedroom – was thankfully silent. Louis didn't even stir from the side of the bed he's curled up on. And, after letting himself in and carefully closing the door behind him, Harry slowly approaches the bed, and kneels down on the opposite, unoccupied side.

 

“Louis,” Harry whispers. He's sitting on the bed next to the small, sleeping body, kneeled down with his hands resting in his lap. He bites on the corner of his bottom lip and, after a few failed attempts at waking up Louis, he presses them together. Harry wills himself not to do it but he feels it coming and sooner than he realizes it, it's happening. He's crying again.

 

Against all that Harry had been thinking about in the living room – about not being so alone; not as alone as he thought he was, at least – he suddenly felt it creeping back in. Harry's in a vulnerable place right now, especially considering the phone call he had with his father earlier, so little things like Louis not answering him despite being asleep is going to set him off.

 

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry weakly tries again. He had been trying to keep his crying to soft sounds and little slips but when Louis still didn't stir, his cries turned into sobbing. Having since buried his head in his hands, he doesn't notice Louis shifting in the sheets next to him. Doesn't even realize that Louis has sat up.

 

“Harry,” Louis says back, voice soft and thick from sleep. Harry doesn't look up until he feels a hand rest on his shoulder. Since his eyes were formerly covered, it takes him a few moments to readjust to the darkness of the bedroom but when he does, he sees Louis sitting up across from him. And immediately he's throwing himself at Louis, wrapping his arms tight around the older man's smaller middle. The hand connected to the arm that Louis had rested on Harry's shoulder ends up slipping over the teens shoulder and hanging there uselessly. Ignoring how tense Louis feels in his embrace, Harry starts crying harder, nudging his nose against the older man's neck and streaking the skin with his tears. With his face pressed so close to Louis, Harry can feel the movement that results from him swallowing. The sound of Louis trying to speak up is also very loud in his ears but before Louis has a chance to even utter the first word, Harry's looking up and quickly pressing his lips to the older man's – completely cutting off anything he could have said in his thick, groggy voice.

 

What would have been a question turns into a noise of shock and Louis is using the arm that had been hanging over Harry's shoulder to push the younger boy away.

 

“Just what do you think you're doing?” Louis demands. Harry can imagine that Louis' tone would be a lot more stern if only it wasn't for having just woken up from an apparently deep slumber.

 

“Impulsiveness,” Harry mummers before giving Louis another quick kiss. Upon pulling away again, he adds, “You said I was impulsive.”

 

Before Louis has a chance to respond, Harry is kissing him again. This time, though, he kisses back for a split second before yanking his head away. It would seem he realized what was happening and what he was letting himself do.

 

“Harry, no,” Louis says – although not too firmly.

 

“Yes,” Harry replies, holding on to the other man even tighter than before. He shifts his lips down to the man's jaw – rugged with stubble – and kisses there. If he can't have Louis' lips then he'll just find something else to kiss. And he loves the way Louis' facial hair feels against his lips. They're puffy and sensitive from being pressed together while crying and pressed to Louis' while kissing – the sensation makes him breathe out a sigh as he grazes his lips from just under the older man's ear to his chin. He's about ready to make his way back up again before he's being pushed away.

 

“Why aren't you on the couch?” Louis asks, both of his hands gripping Harry on either of his shoulders, firmly keeping him in place so he can't lean in to start kissing again. Although Harry thinks he could probably overpower him. Despite his age, Louis is much smaller in stature. Almost fragile.

 

Letting himself be held in place, Harry whispers his response – even though no one's sleeping anymore, certainly not Louis, being in a dark bedroom makes him feel like this is appropriate.

 

“Can't sleep. Nothing on television. And...” He trails off and searches Louis' eyes out in the gloom.

 

“And?” Louis prompts.

 

“And I'm lonely.”

 

Harry thinks he probably wasn't meant to hear Louis mutter _fucking Christ_ but he did. The enclosed bedroom at night makes it easy to pick up even the smallest sounds.

 

“I get needy when I'm upset,” Harry protests. As if that's any explanation. An excuse of some sort for his uncalled for behavior.

 

“One of those types?” Louis mutters to himself. And Harry's eyes – having since adjusted in the dark – catch Louis shake his head. A little bit of his hair falls in front of his eyes from its sleepy mess and Harry reaches out a hand to brush it away. Louis watches this movement and, in the meantime, his grip on the teen's shoulders loosens.

 

Now that his shoulders are somewhat free of the confines of Louis' hands, Harry shifts closer to the older man. His lips linger to the side of Louis' own and he whispers, “Don't say it like that.”

 

He's just about to close the distance but Louis is shoving him away again.

 

“ _Don't_ put moves on people just because you're weepy and vulnerable. Especially if that person is ten years your senior.”

 

Harry hesitates before speaking – almost thinking twice before opening his mouth and saying what he's thinking about saying. But it's quick before his now notorious impulsiveness kicks in and he's blurting it out.

 

“Age is just a number?” He tries weakly. It's a question rather than a statement – and his tone isn't any more convinced than Louis probably feels right now. That much is made apparent when Louis sighs and he takes his hands off of Harry long enough to rub tiredly at his face.

 

“What do you want, Harry?” Louis asks following a long sigh.

 

And, honestly, Harry doesn't quite know. He has no idea what he wants right now – can't put his finger on any one thing – so he's just going with whatever comes to him. Which happened to be kissing at the time. And he'd try kissing Louis more if the older man would let him. Maybe _that's_ what Harry wants. To kiss more. To be closer. Before those feelings of being alone start creeping back into him and he starts crying again. He's tired of crying. He doesn't want to cry anymore. Now he just wants something to soothe him. Being close to others has always been a comfort. What better way to solve the pain of feeling alone than getting close to someone? As close as Harry can possibly get – whether that's with Louis or anyone else. It doesn't make a difference to him. Anything – _anyone –_ to fill the emptiness.

 

Since Harry hasn't responded to him, Louis decides to speak up and seek out an answer.

 

“You said you were lonely?” Louis asks. But it's a rhetorical question. He's answering himself before Harry has the chance to do it. “If I let you sleep in this bed tonight, will you stop?”

 

It's a start. At least he doesn't have to be in a chilly living room on an uncomfortable couch with only one pillow to ease the irritation and a single blanket to warm him just the tiniest bit. But he can't trust himself to answer Louis and keep to his word. About stopping. Because if he does get to sleep in bed next to Louis, he'll probably be left to sleep as far on the other side as he can possibly get. And the gap between them will end up being a physical manifestation of the disconnection and loneliness he feels. Harry can't trust himself not to nudge closer, inch by inch, until he's clinging on to Louis.

 

But maybe Harry doesn't have to be honest. Maybe Louis doesn't have to know. By the time Harry gets close enough to wrap his arms around the older man, Louis will probably have already fallen asleep. He won't even realize it. And Harry will probably end up having a restless sleep anyway. He thinks he can manage to shrink back to his own side of his bed before Louis wakes up and realizes what had happened.

 

“Yeah,” Harry finally answers, having settled his thoughts and feelings. “I'll stop.”

 

Louis breathes out another side and tries to pull the blankets back as best as he can with Harry sitting on top. With a few violent tugs, Harry gets the idea and lifts himself up off the bed and under the covers Louis has been pulling back. When he settles down against the mattress, Harry smiles to himself.

 

“Gonna' tuck me in?” Harry asks, a hopeful tone to his voice. But it's quickly diminished with Louis gruff, stern response.

 

“Don't push it, kid.”

 

And Harry supposes that that's fair. He's already pushed it by asking to spend tonight in Louis' penthouse so he's not on the streets again. And now, instead of a couch, he finds himself in a bed. It hasn't been any longer than a week but it already feels like it's been a lifetime since he last slept in a bed. Harry should be counting his blessings because it was the most precise definition of luck that he stumbled upon such a charitable person. Judging by what he's experienced of Louis and his lavish penthouse that he presumably occupies all by himself, Louis isn't benevolent by nature. Harry's a very unique case.

 

It occurs to Harry that he hasn't once said thank you this entire time. He's been taking and taking and taking without a single ounce of gratitude. His heart sinks when he thinks about how Louis probably thinks Harry's a selfish brat.

 

“Louis,” Harry suddenly speaks up. The two of them had been silent for awhile so his voice sounds louder than it really is and he cringes at the volume. Letting his head fall to the side, he stares at the other man on the opposite side of the bed. He tries again. “ _Louis_.” But still no response.

 

Louis must have fallen asleep. And as Harry starts acting on his plan to nudge closer and closer until he can wrap his arms around the older man, he makes a mental note to thank him in the morning.

 

* * * * *

 

 _**Note:** _ Hopefully you guys are finding the plot and character development okay; the pacing is probably really slow, though. Sorry ;; Thank you to those who have read it and given it kudos thus far~ <3


	6. Just Another Statistic

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

When Louis wakes up, he expects to roll over onto the opposite side of the bed and go about his morning ritual of sprawling out and stretching with arms hanging over one end and his legs dangling over the other – toes briefly spread out before curling them back in. This morning, however, that ritual is disturbed. He hasn't opened his eyes before he attempts to go about rolling over and, when he does try to do this, he's met with an obstacle. The blankets aren't knotted around him. He knows they're not because the blankets aren't even on him. What is going on?

 

Finally opening his eyes, Louis looks over to what's been obstructing his path and finds Harry laying there. Which, okay, fine. Louis remembers last night. He remembers Harry coming in and...

 

_And kissing him_ .

 

Louis lets his head roll to the side so that he's no longer looking at Harry but staring out the window, his face contorted into what can only be an expression of pain. He goes to rub at his face with both hands but can only do it with one – his other arm is caught under what, he assumes, had been blocking him from rolling over in the first place.

 

Reluctantly looking over at Harry again, he sees that the boy is laying on top of his arm. How did he get that close? And why was the boys own arms wrapped around him? Louis remembers inviting Harry to share his bed but he does not remember mentioning for the seventeen year old to share his personal space.

 

He didn't say Harry could kiss him either and yet that happened too.

 

Louis' not quite sure how he feels about what had happened. Because it hadn't been one quick, chaste kiss. Harry had full on tried initiating some sort out of makeout session – was so insistent upon it – and probably would have succeeded if Louis wasn't insistent in his own right on pushing the kid away. The underaged kid. He might be seventeen but he Louis doesn't know how many months far off he is from being legal and, even if he did, he wouldn't want to risk anything. What's to happen if his parents all of a sudden have a change of heart? Maybe somewhere along down the line they'll feel guilty about being so awful to their son. Emotional breakthroughs happen all the time. And Louis doesn't want to be there when it happens – sleeping next to this kid having even kissed the kid back even if it was just for a moment before he realized just what was happening.

 

Apparently Harry wasn't kidding when he said he gets needy when he's lonely. That much was apparent by how Harry had wrapped himself around Louis in the middle of the night. But Louis had to go to work.

 

“Harry,” Louis says loudly. He tries to move his arm up and down more in an attempt to rouse Harry than get it from underneath his body – although that would certainly be a nice perk.

 

The boy just barely stirs. It takes four shouts of his name before Harry's cracking his eyes open and squinting against the sunlight shining through the window of Louis' bedroom. When he sees Louis staring at him – an expectant expression on his face, demanding an explanation – Harry's eyes are quick to widen and he scrambles away from the older man's side. He almost falls out of bed in his haste but manages to catch himself by scrabbling at the blankets. The ones that he stole. That's why Louis woke up without them tangled around his body like he's used to on a usual morning.

 

But such wasn't a usual morning and hasn't been for the past few days. Louis wonders when his life had become turned upside down. Sudden dramas and threatened lawsuits at work don't even send his life spiraling the way Harry has.

 

It's just then that Louis realizes although his work environment is all about risks and screwing people over before they screw you, Harry might be more dangerous than anyone he works with or against to make a paycheck. Vulnerable as the kid may be, he's starting to pose a real threat to Louis' way of life.

 

“I have to get going,” Louis says with a sigh. He rolls out of bed and doesn't give Harry a second look before proceeding to the closet. As he picks out his clothes, it occurs to him that Harry's been wearing the same clothes since they first met. And Harry didn't have any bags or belongings with him.

 

Throwing some articles of clothing over his shoulder, he adds, “And you have to shower and change.”

 

Louis leaves to go change in his en suite bathroom only to quickly return to see Harry staring at the clothing, running it over in his hands like he's never seen a shirt before. Maybe he's just never seen a normal shirt before. He's wearing a band shirt under his hoodie – which also just happens to be the merch of some band or another.

 

“What's wrong?” Louis asks. “You're not going to start crying again, are you?”

 

“No,” Harry mutters defensively. When he looks up from the clothes, Louis can see how smudged his eyeliner had gotten – it gets more and more smudged by the day, having not been cleaned off or touched up presumably since Harry left. Louis prays none of it had gotten onto his pillow or sheets.

 

“I don't think these are going to fit,” Harry says.

 

“Are you calling me fat?” Louis mocks. His attempt at humor. If only to relieve the tension he feels as a consequence for having caught Harry wrapped up around him upon waking up. Although Harry still looks shaken, he's calmed down considerably after Louis had disappeared into the bathroom for a short time.

 

“On the contrary,” Harry responds. “You're probably the tiniest guy I've seen in my life.”

 

“I am not!” And this time Louis isn't mocking or joking around. He gets far too many comments on his small stature to not be offended by some kid calling him out on it too.

 

“Look, all I'm saying is that if I rip any of your clothing, it's not my fault.”

 

“Well you're going to have to try your best to shrink yourself down because I don't know how to sew and you need to get out of those disgusting clothes before they start to smell.” Louis thinks that if Harry had spent another day on the streets they probably would have. And had Harry reeked too badly, Louis wouldn't have had anything to do with it. Harry should consider himself fortunate he ran into Louis when he did.

 

He hasn't looked at a clock just yet but Louis is going to assume that he's running late. His body's natural clock is usually right on the dot but between the time it took to wake Harry up and have this conversation, it's wasted some valuable time that could have been spent making coffee and getting his things together in his office.

 

Just as Louis is about to pass into the hall outside his bedroom, he hears his name being called out and he stops short, leaning back into the bedroom and turning his head so he can see Harry.

 

“Hey,” Harry starts, his voice soft and rushed. “Look, I just wanted to say thanks, you know. For everything. You've been really great even though you could have kicked me out. Or just not have let me stay in the first place. You probably could have had me removed from the cafe the other night if you really wanted to.”

 

“Don't mention it,” Louis replies with a shrug. And he goes to walk out of the bedroom again but just before he does that, he catches Harry mutter something.

 

“Just don't want you to think I'm ungrateful.”

 

As Louis goes about his morning business, he thinks about how that's the last thing that's crossed his mind about Harry. Stressed as he is about the kid being there, he honestly doesn't believe Harry's a bad person. Although to others his appearance may say otherwise – with the makeup and all black clothing and the tattoos Louis' caught glimpses of when the sleeves of his sweater ride up just a bit. Certainly not ungrateful or selfish. He's just in a bad position. Louis wouldn't go as far as to say Harry's presence has been a delight but it hasn't exactly been a bad experience either. He's more or less neutral about the whole thing. Although that kiss from last night had put some tension on his nerves and it hasn't faded since last night. If anything, waking up and remembering what had happened just ended up making him feel more awkward about the occurrence. However, knowing what he knows about Harry and his situation, he just can't bear to kick the kid out flat on his ass. If Harry can manage to keep his neediness and impulsiveness in check, Louis won't have to.

 

Louis doesn't say goodbye to Harry – just as he's not obligated to say good night to the kid, he's not obligated to say goodbye to him either. He doesn't even kick him out of the apartment while he's gone because if yesterday was anything to go by, Harry will just hang around outside the door again. Why have him do that? Why not just let him stay in the penthouse? He's already invaded Louis' bed. God, he should just let Harry move in if it's going to be like this.

 

He tenses up in the elevator when that last thought passes through his mind. It had been a joke to himself but he realizes quickly that that might be what it comes to.

 

Louis can't have a seventeen year old living with him. But Harry doesn't have anywhere else to go, either.

 

As the elevator continues to descend to the first floor, Louis makes a mental note – top priority – to sort things out with Harry like he said they were going to do last night.

 

* * * * *

 

_Harry's POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Harry hadn't done much while Louis was away at work. There wasn't much he could do. In the time that he's been there he's only been given permission to watch television, sleep in Louis' bed, and shower – as well as wear some of Louis' clothing which, as expected, as a little on the tight side. Not that Harry wasn't already familiar with clothing constricting various limbs of his body, it's just that Louis seems to be quite fond of tight clothing too so whatever's tight on his smaller fame is definitely tight on Harry's.

 

Something that Harry hadn't exactly been given permission to do was raid Louis' kitchen. But on the grounds of being now homeless and still as starved as ever, Harry rationalizes that Louis will understand. But that was if there was anything  _to_ raid. Harry should have known that as a single man Louis' kitchen cupboards wouldn't have next to nothing in them. Nothing  _good_ anyway. There was some ramen and cereal. Plenty of cereal. But nothing much else that Harry could find appetizing. When he opens up the fridge he thinks of that one scene out of Fight Club after the guy's apartment exploded and all that remained of the fridge was just condiments and sauces. If Louis ever tries to upset the social and economical structure of the city, Harry can imagine the same thing would happen to his penthouse and fridge.

 

Giving up on eating, Harry sat down in front of the television and that's more or less what he did throughout the day. His boredom made him pay closer attention to the programs than he had the night before. The mind numbing purpose of television had been fulfilled – Harry had barely thought about his poor situation while watching some cooking channel. If he couldn't eat food then he could at least watch it being made. Harry spent a good portion of his time hoping that Louis came back from work with some groceries – being that he knew Harry was staying there he could at least stock the shelves with something. Maybe it would occur to him to do that. Or maybe not. Harry didn't know what kind of job Louis worked or how much mental capacity it demanded but he can imagined it was pretty prestigious on some level or another if Louis could afford a penthouse. Whether he pays rent or bought it out – either way, it's still pretty damn expensive.

 

Unfortunately, despite all Harry's prayers and hopes, the only thing Louis drags into the penthouse when he arrives home is whatever he totes to work with him every morning. But Harry can't sustain himself on leather.

 

Peeking over the top of the couch at Louis as he comes through the door, Harry says, “I tried feeding myself.”

 

“Oh, yeah? All by yourself?” Although Louis is mocking Harry, there's not a malicious tone to his voice. Harry's starting to learn that Louis is a joker. A rather sarcastic one at that.

 

“Notice I said _tried_.”

 

“Didn't succeed?”

 

Harry shakes his head and asks, “Something up with your fiber intake or what?”

 

Louis stops short on his way down the hall that Harry now knows leads to his bedroom – and presumably his office too as that's where he disappeared to last night before retiring without a word.

 

“I don't know what you mean,” Louis responds, hoisting his briefcase up onto his hip.

 

“The cereal,” Harry mutters. “So much cereal. The supermarket doesn't even sell that much cereal I don't know where you got it all or where you find the time to eat it.”

 

Louis only laughs in response as he turns back to go about putting his things away. When he's in the living room once again, he sits down on the opposite side of the couch next to Harry and lets his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

 

“I really, really like cereal.”

 

“Believe me, I can see that.”

 

“It's quick and easy and I don't really know how to cook that well. This ensures me that I don't burn down my penthouse and the entire building along with it.”

 

“I'm not half bad at cooking,” Harry mentions. “But since you hardly have anything I can cook with, I can't prove it to you.”

 

Louis lets his fall back and he groans.

 

“I'll go buy some groceries then,” he grumbles. “But it'll have to be tomorrow because once I get home, I don't leave the house again until the next morning. You can just have ramen again tonight.” He looks over at Harry and adds, “But warm this time. Unless you want to cry while you wait for it to cool off again.”

 

Harry mutters, “Wasn't planning on it.” And he won't mention it out loud but he's a little hurt by Louis taking a stab at him for crying. Considering his situation, he thinks he deserves to cry.

 

It's easy enough to brush off the comment and the sting that comes along with it as the seconds slip into minutes which slips into, quite possibly, an entire hour of television watching together before either one of them speaks up. It's Louis that does.

 

“So while I was at work I've been doing some thinking,” he starts. And he looks over at Harry, waiting for him to look back before he continues. “At first I was just going to give you some money and send you on your merry way. But what good with that do when your parents kicked you out? I thought maybe you could stay with a friend but that'd only last for so long before you start riding on the nerves of your friends' parents too. No teenager needs to be couch hopping. So after weighing all the odds and pros and cons, I've come to a decision...”

 

Louis trails off and Harry almost dies waiting for him to finish. How sadistic do you have to be to leave someone hanging like this? Over something so important, too.

 

“I've decided that you can stay here,” Louis finally caves. “We'll have to work out things as we go along but I have a spare room that's just being used for storage at the moment. Clear that out. Get something moved in. A bed or a futon or something – I don't know.” Louis shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. Harry smiles.

 

“What – you don't want me sleeping in bed with you?”

 

Although Harry's smiling, Louis doesn't. His expression turns grave and he shakes his head just the tiniest bit.

 

“Definitely not,” he says sternly. “And that's another thing I need to mention – you can't go doing that again.”

 

Harry feels bad. Almost. But he nods and mutters, “Okay, it won't.” Except he's not quite sure if he's being honest with Louis. Last night it was either kiss or cry and that's usually how it was back home too. If he wasn't sneaking out to see someone, he was sneaking that someone in. His parents have caught him on numerous occasions. And they never mentioned it or said it out loud but Harry feels like that's another reason why they've turned on him. They can't come to terms with the fact that their son is...how do people say it?  _A fag_ . He doesn't like that word any more than the next guy does but he can't imagine his parents using any other word.

 

He never thought he'd end up being one of those gay teens kicked out of their house by their own parents and yet here he is. Feels great knowing that he's recognized more as a statistic than as a valid human being.

 

Lost in his thoughts, Harry doesn't think before he accidentally blurts out, “I'm gay.”

 

“Oh are you?” Louis asks in response. And there's not even a waver in his voice or tone. “I thought maybe last night you kissed me just for the hell of it.”

 

And, okay. Harry sees his point. It's not like he meant to just come out with that anyway. He had been thinking about it which is why he accidentally said it.

 

“Sorry,” Harry mutters. “That was stupid.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” Louis says in response.

 

It's at this point Harry almost expects Louis to add that he's gay too. But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything else. Which leaves Harry to wonder. Was his age really the issue or did Louis not want him getting too close because he was straight? Harry immediately starts kicking himself mentally. How's he supposed to cope now when the guy he's kind of sort of living with is straight and sex has always been his one and only outlet and vice?

 

It's New York City. There has to be some gay youth something or anothers dotted around, right? Maybe all hope wasn't lost.

 

Despite having already been told not to worry about it, Harry mutters another sorry. Louis doesn't respond this time. He merely keeps his eyes focused on the television. Harry turns his attention to the screen too after awhile – tiring of staring at how Louis' shirt hugs a little too close to his hips. He hopes that this little decision Louis has made includes shopping for clothes at some point. Even if it's just one or two shirts and a pair of pants. He can rotate between wearing one outfit while the other's in the wash. That way Harry can breathe and Louis doesn't have to worry about his things getting worn or torn. Everyone wins with a little bit of clothes shopping.

 

The night goes on quietly. Louis eventually gets up to make Harry that ramen he promised. He even makes a bowl for himself. And Harry enjoys the first warm meal he's had in what feels like ages. Louis wonders if he's still hungry and when Harry quietly responds that he is, Louis tells him to go into the kitchen and just make as much ramen as he needs. He's even generous enough to offer some of his cereal but Harry wants hot food.

 

Conversation comes and goes as they sit there on the couch watching television together. Day had faded into night long before Louis even got up to make the two of them some dinner and Harry isn't sure how late it is when Louis finally gets to his feet and asks, “Well, are you coming with me or are you going to chill and watch some more television?”

 

Harry assumes this is Louis' way of asking him if he's coming to bed. He doesn't respond to the question. Instead, he merely gets to his feet and quietly tags along behind Louis as they walk to the bedroom together.

 

Louis makes his way into the bathroom immediately and Harry's more than eager to throw himself facefirst on the bed. This isn't comfortable, though. For the past few nights he's been sleeping wrapped up in his sweater. The smart thing would have been to throw it into the wash with the rest of his dirty laundry – or the few articles of clothing that could be considered laundry – but he hadn't quite finished hiding in it just yet. He's since gotten comfortable since then. Harry's done curling up inside the safety of his hoodie. So he pulls it off and throws it over his head before falling flat onto the bed again. He doesn't even realize when Louis is back in the bedroom until he hears the man clear his throat.

 

When Harry looks up, the last thing he expects to see his Louis shirtless and in his boxers. He thinks back to what he blurted out earlier. Louis presenting himself like this means one of two things – he's also likes guys or is so comfortable with his own sexuality and Harry that he just doesn't care. Whichever it may be, neither will stop him from shamelessly laying his head down onto the blankets with a smile and shamelessly stare across the room.

 

“What?” Harry asks softly.

 

Louis shakes his head and makes a shooing gesture with his hands.

 

“I need some room too you know,” he mutters.

 

“You need clothes.”

 

“This is how I like sleeping.”

 

“That's not how you slept last night.” And Harry thinks he makes a valid point all things considered.

 

Louis kicks Harry from under the covers and responds, “That's because I was far too tired to bother getting undressed. I also wanted to stay clothed just in case you came in for whatever reason. And look at that! That's what you did.”

 

“So what changed?” Harry asks. He's since snuggled underneath the covers with Louis – although not nearly close enough for his comfort. He had agreed not to kiss Louis earlier that evening but there was never any mention that he couldn't cuddle up to him.

 

It goes without saying that Harry is looking for every possible loophole here.

 

“If you're going to be staying here for who only knows how long, I'm not spending that time being uncomfortable. If I want to walk around in my boxers as is usual then I will do so. It's still my place.”

 

“You don't mind me seeing?” Harry asks. He's back to staring at Louis again. “Checking you out, probably?”

 

Louis scoffs and says, “You've already tried kissing me. Several times. I can hardly imagine why it would matter at this point. Besides, you've probably thought of what I look like naked already anyway.”

 

Harry hasn't, actually. The closest he's come to thinking about Louis' body is how small it is in comparison to his own and that's only because he has Louis' tiny clothing clinging to his body. Harry will take this as an invitation to start doing so, though.

 

“What if I like walking around in my underwear too?” Harry asks, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

“I can hardly imagine you would. I'm a single man living alone in my own home. You're just a kid who used to be living with his parents. Where would you find the opportunity to walk around half naked?”

 

“Maybe I live in a very open household.” And that's a joke. If his parents were any open they wouldn't have kicked him out and wouldn't hate him so badly for a variety of stupid and unreasonable things. Harry doesn't laugh, though.

 

“Sure thing,” Louis mutters. He's yawning then. Stretching out his arms above his head and they knock against the wall behind the bed before he's pulling them back in. “I don't suppose I can turn off the light?”

 

Harry hums in the negative, shaking his head.

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because.”

 

“Because _why_ , Harry?” Louis' tone lets Harry know that he's tired and not in the mood to play games. But Harry's just in a playful mood tonight.

 

“You haven't kissed me goodnight,” he mummurs.

 

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says sternly. “We've talked about this.”

 

“But it's a _goodnight_ kiss. Not a 'lonely and needy' kiss. There's a difference. I deserve one.”

 

“Do you now?”

 

Harry nods and nudges closer. His face is just inches away from Louis and he smiles before puckering his lips. Louis merely shakes his head and shoves Harry back onto his own side of the bed.

 

“I know you're from California but have you ever heard of boundaries?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “But I've been crossing tons of them since I sat down with you the other night. Why stop now?”

 

“Because we discussed this. I said no kissing.”

 

Harry hesitates before asking, “Not even on the cheek?”

 

“ _No,_ Harry!” The irritation in Louis' tone is gradually rising the more Harry presses. He remembers what Louis said last night. About not pushing it. He's definitely pushing it right now. And he doesn't mean to. Really, he doesn't. But it's just one tiny little kiss. Harry can't see the harm in it. Especially if it's a tiny kiss on the cheek.

 

“Fine,” Harry eventually mutters. “ _Fine_. No kissing.”

 

“No kissing,” Louis agrees. He leans over to turn the lamp off with a soft _click_ and the room is quickly plunged in darkness.

 

Harry stays on his bed for the most part. Laying on his side with his arms crossed, glaring into the darkness. It isn't until he hears Louis' breathing level out and the occasional soft snore does the tension leave Harry's body and he unwraps his arms from across his chest as he begins his journey to nudge closer and closer to Louis' side of the bed – just like he did last night. If he couldn't get a goodnight kiss then he was definitely getting cuddles.

 

Harry will get the intimacy he craves one way or another.


	7. Wouldn't You Love to Love Him

** Note:  ** This chapter contains smut so if you don't wanna read that then just stop when it gets to Harry's POV. They don't use condoms but you should always remember to – don't follow their bad example. Yada, yada. Harry's a cryer; I didn't intend for that to happen. It just did. Only a lil, though. That'll do it for warnings. WE MOVE ONWARDS.

 

* * * * *

 

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

It had been just a little bit over a week since Louis had let Harry sleep in bed with him for the second time and, since then, they had gone shopping for food and clothes. What _hadn't_ happened was the purchase of a bed and turning the extra room that Louis had been using for storage into a bedroom for Harry. Instead, he'd been sleeping with Louis the whole time. In this time Harry had managed to get out of Louis more than his fair share of kisses and he's even managed to get the older man to hug him back during those sneaky snuggles of Harry's.

 

Dinner was usually spent in front of the television – they talked to each other and laughed with each other more than they paid attention to the program. And, once they've had their fill of food and useless celebrity news, they'd go up to the apartment rooftop and spend the rest of the evenings up there before either one of them got tired. Louis had mentioned that before Harry came into his life, spending hours upon hours on this rooftop every evening was his usual ritual and he'd like to get back into doing that again. Harry wouldn't admit it but he felt kind of special to be included in what Louis considered to be his _ritual_. Likewise, Louis wouldn't mention that he actually really enjoyed having Harry around. He'd been lonely for a long time before but with his busy schedule and lack of interest for people in general, it made involving himself with anyone pretty close to being impossible. He secretly considers Harry something of a blessing. Granted, Louis wasn't all that thrilled to have Harry around at first. He had been annoyed and frustrated and more than eager to get rid of the kid. But that's just because he has a hard time adjusting to change. His work life is filled with a constant flux of change and sudden, unexpected occurrences. His home life is where he finds that equilibrium he desperately desires after a long day of work. But in the past week and a half, Harry has since made himself part of the status quo and Louis can't say that he minds the kid being around anymore. It was an awkward adjustment for both of them but here they are, alive and well.

 

There were still things that had to be taken care of, though, and these things were usually discussed during their time spent on the rooftop tucked in with the bushes, flowers, and fairy lights. The biggest topic of conversation was school. Harry, being seventeen, could legally drop out. But Louis wouldn't be having any of that. He might not be Harry's parents or a legal guardian but he found himself in a place of being the only authorial influence Harry has in his life anymore. It wasn't something Louis had originally intended on signing up for but he'd take the burden anyway. If the kid was to be living under his roof then he had to make sure he was some kind of positive influence on him.

 

“You're in your...what?” Louis calculates. “Junior year?” When Harry nods, he says, “So you should have most of your credits by now, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. “But I don't really want to go back to school.”

 

“You need to do _something_ ,” Louis says with a sigh. “You can't throw opportunities away just because you hit a speed bump in your life.”

 

Admittedly, the situation Harry finds himself in is more than just a speed bump. It's more like a huge ditch in the road that he either has to find a way around or risk trying to jump it. Louis is trying to be optimistic, though. At least for Harry's sake. There's enough negativity and hopelessness surrounding the kid and where he finds himself without Louis adding to it. And Harry doesn't need to be a dropout on top of being homeless.

 

“I got shit on when I was at home. I got shit on when I was at school.” Harry pulls his sweater sleeves down so that they're over his hands and tucks them into his pockets. “I'm tired of being around people who make me feel awful all the time.”

 

“How about looking into online classes?” Louis tries. “I think you've had more than enough classroom time for them to pass you off with taking a few tests for your remaining credits. Or...” Louis trails off. “ _Something_.” He doesn't know how stuff like that works. Louis never had been in a place where he had to consider alternative methods of education.

 

“I guess,” Harry finally mutters, giving in.

 

“I'll let you use my office computer while I'm at work. You can look into it yourself. Find something you think will fit what you're looking for and what you need. How's that?”

 

Harry doesn't respond with words. He merely shrugs and seems to collapse in on himself more. His body language is making it more than obvious that he's not thrilled with the conversation or what he's going to be stuck doing tomorrow while Louis is gone.

 

A long time passes before either of them say another word. Louis continues sipping the drink he mixed for himself before they both headed up to the rooftop and Harry doesn't move the slightest bit. By the time it gets dark enough that neither of them would be able to see if it wasn't for the fairy lights and lanterns, it's Louis that decides to speak up.

 

“Maybe we should think about heading back downstairs?” In response, Harry just shrugs and only gets up when Louis does, following quietly behind him – never closer than five steps away. Louis notes how quiet Harry's gotten all of a sudden and how the kid has seemed to just closed himself off almost entirely. Louis feels a little guilty for making the kid feel so bad – he probably opened up old wounds when he started talking about school – but he couldn't let Harry just throw a life away that's hardly even started yet. His being kicked out by his parents and unintentionally abandoned by a clueless friend doesn't need to be the thing that breaks him.

 

Harry's so young and has such a long life ahead of him. There will be more than enough things that will be hard on him somewhere down the road. Now's not the time to be giving in to anything. Now's the time for him to live and learn; cope, survive, and roll with the punches.

 

It's quiet in the elevator on the way down to the apartment leaving both of them with their own respective thoughts. Louis continues the ones he had from the rooftop. It pushes him into the realization that Harry had probably been alone before he even arrived here. Without anyone to support him at school or home, it must have left him feeling pretty abandoned and on his own. Harry had felt lost even before he ran into Louis' life headfirst. It's then that it occurs to him the root of Harry's neediness and impulsiveness – he wasn't getting what he needed from where he should have been getting it so he tried to find it anywhere else he could. He didn't care if that came in the form of being in the arms of a man for a few hours at a time before they'd part ways only to never see each other again. He didn't care because it was better than what he had been getting. Which is to say nothing at all.

 

Harry doesn't see the look Louis gives him but if he could, he'd see the absolutely heartbroken expression on Louis' face because he's come to the realization that Harry had been taking what he could get and settling for less than what he's worth because this whole time, he hadn't a single idea what his worth even was. No one had ever told him he was valuable. Not his school. And certainly not his parents. And Louis knows damn well that none of Harry's former lovers would tell him that he's valuable or worth anything out of fear of Harry getting attached. They only wanted to love him and leave him which left Harry under the utterly wrong impression that he was only of temporary value. He was only valuable as long as someone was using him.

 

Louis is subjected to a lot of messed up situations as a result of his work but this kind of thing is enough to ruin him. He tries to stay as indifferent and unattached as he possibly can but Harry is just so young and he's been going through this his entirely adolescence. Louis can't look at this boy with such a cold heart.

 

Never had he intended on telling Harry that he actually enjoys having him around. Louis initially planned on keeping that secret to himself. But after giving it some thought, he's beginning to wonder if he _should_ tell Harry. He deserves to know when he's wanted.

 

Louis makes a mental note to do that during tomorrow night's rooftop garden chat.

 

* * * * *

 

_Harry's POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Harry still hadn't spoken a single word since being on the rooftop even as he and Louis got ready for bed. Louis had tried to make conversation several times but it only resulted in a few shrugs from Harry. Sometimes he didn't even bother with doing that at all. He just couldn't help being suffocated under the rush of all the bad feelings and even worse memories that came back to surface when the topic of school came up. He can't say that he was surprised. He knew a talk like this was going to happen eventually. He just didn't think it was going to start with school. Harry thought that maybe Louis would start with something like, “So what do you plan on doing?” But no. He jumped right into the topic of education. Which he supposes is just as well. Because he wouldn't have been able to answer the question about what he was planning on doing. He didn't have a plan at all. So Harry guesses that Louis bringing up school on his own discretion was for the best.

 

Still didn't make Harry feel any less awful, though.

 

Once they were both tucked into bed next to each other – both to sleep comfortably in just their underwear – Harry doesn't even move in for the snuggle like he usually does. Instead he stays on his own side with his own arms wrapped around his own self. It's like this for awhile and although he's lost in his own painful thoughts of what had happened to him back in Santa Monica that led up to this point, somewhere in between each of those thoughts was a little bit of hope that maybe Louis would shuffle over to snuggle him first. After awhile of him laying on his own, though, he gives up that hope and considers it a lost cause. Louis has probably fallen asleep by now.

 

Just as Harry feels a tear start sliding down his cheek – about ready to start crying while Louis sleeps like he has done every night since he got here – he feels a single finger trace gently down his spine. His shoulders fold inwards in response to the movements and then the finger is being replaced by a hand rubbing all along his back. A few more tears manage to slip down Harry's skin but for now the crisis has been averted. For now he's content holding off on the crying as long as Louis keeps rubbing his back. The touch is as intoxicating as it is comforting and the longer Louis goes on like this the more places his skin starts to tingle until goosebumps are appearing all over his skin.

 

“You haven't asked for your goodnight kiss yet,” Louis eventually murmurs. “I'm waiting.”

 

_He's waiting_ .

 

If Louis is waiting then that means he  _wants_ to be kissed.

 

That's all the permission Harry needs before he's rolling over, almost crushing Louis' outstretched arm in the process. His own hands dart forward and cups Louis' face in them before quickly moving in to kiss the older man. He lingers there – much longer than he has on any other night – and just as he's pulling away to break the kiss, he's closing the gap again.

 

All the nights before this one, their kisses have been quick. It was hardly ever more than a slight brush of the lips once – never mind twice or however many times Harry now finds himself going back in. Harry had always wanted more – always wanted to push it that tiny bit farther – but he had never quite had the guts to actually do it. Impulsive as he may be, with as nice and charitable as Louis had been, he didn't want to – as he had said –  _push it_ .

 

But tonight he was taking his chances. The thing is, though, is that Louis isn't even stopping him. He's kissing back as much as he's being kissed and it's just making Harry want – no,  _need –_ more.

 

Eventually Harry finds himself having to pull back. Even as much as he doesn't want to, he has something he needs to say.

 

“Louis,” Harry murmurs. “Louis, I can't help it.”

 

“Can't help what?” Louis runs a hand up Harry's back until it's ghosting over his neck to reach into his hair. His fingertips rub over his scalp and Harry quivers slightly at the sensation.

 

“I can't help being needy.” And the tears that Louis had managed to rub away earlier are flowing now. Almost like the confession was all that was needed to completely bust open the water works in his eyes.

 

Harry feels himself being pulled closer and he collapses against Louis' chest. Both of the older man's hands are in Harry's hair now and mingling with the sounds of Harry crying are Louis' soft  _shhh_ noises. Occasionally he'll whisper a very soft, “I know,” before he continues running his hand through Harry's hair and shushing him. He repeats those two words so many times that Harry almost doesn't catch it when Louis finally says something else.

 

“ _It's not your fault_.”

 

Harry lifts his head up so he can see Louis through the darkness and when he speaks, his voice cracks on the single word, “ _What?_ ”

 

“It's not your fault,” Louis repeats, and he's pushing on the back of Harry's head, encouraging him to move in for a kiss. Harry does this, gladly, and another thing he can't help is how he's still crying even throughout the kiss. It seems like the tears only start slipping down his skin faster as Louis deepens it, rolling them over so Harry's laying back against the bed and Louis is bent over next to him, slowly moving into open mouthed territory. The moment Louis licks along Harry's bottom lip, he's opening up eagerly and he starts gripping at the skin on Louis' back, urging more out of him. Louis gives as much as Harry wants to receive and a certain kind of feeling bubbles inside of Harry when he realizes that despite his tears smearing off of his own cheeks and onto Louis', he still hasn't stopped kissing him. This is a definite change from the other men he's been with because if he so much as sniffles, they immediately stop. Because crying is “such a turn off.” But, sometimes, Harry can't help that either. Louis doesn't seem to mind, though, and to Harry – that makes all the difference.

 

After a short time of kissing and a little bit more crying on Harry's part, he hums in an attempt to get Louis' attention and pulls away, whispering, “What are we doing?”

 

He shivers when he feels a fingertip glide gently along his jawline and Louis whispers into his ear, “We're doing whatever you want to do.”

 

“Sex,” Harry immediately blurts out. “I want sex.” He _needs_ sex, if he's honest with himself. But he's not going to admit that to Louis. They've already established he's impulsive and needy. No sense in discussing that again – especially in such a delicate moment.

 

There's reluctance in his tone when Louis says back, “I don't have any condoms.”

 

“Don't care,” Harry mutters – and he's pulling Louis back in for another kiss. That seems to be all the convincing Louis needs, though, because in that same moment he's pulling Harry's boxers down and then rubbing all along the back of his thighs – never breaking their lips' contact for a single second in the meantime.

 

Throughout the touch, Harry's lifting his hips, trying to get Louis to touch him more and a little bit farther upwards. He knows he's being far too eager but among all the other things he can't help, this is one of them.

 

“Louis, _please_ ,” Harry strains out. “Just...”

 

“Just what?” Louis asks. His voice is soft and curious – he's not trying to tease or taunt. He's genuinely trying to figure out what Harry's communicating to him. But Harry doesn't want to just come out and say it. He's already shamelessly blurted out that he wanted sex. No need to go embarrassing himself any farther. But if that's what it's going to take then he might just give in to his own desperation. 

 

“Enough screwing around,” Harry answers. “Just...” He's trailing off again and reaching for one of Louis' hands. When he finds it, he wraps both of his own hands around Louis' small wrist and pulls it up to his mouth. Without hesitation, he's pushing Louis' middle finger between his lips and immediately begins to suck on it. Despite how desperately he's trying to move things along, it does make Harry's cock twitch when he hears a sharp intake of breath from above him followed by a long exhale.

 

“I don't suppose you have lube,” Harry mumbles around Louis' finger.

 

“Not particularly. I never really had a reason to keep it around.”

 

_Right_ . Because Harry still isn't sure of Louis' sexuality. But he's allowed himself to be used by many a straight man on more than one separate occasion. This will hardly be anything new for him.

 

“I'll just have to keep sucking then.”

 

“You do that,” Louis breathes.

 

Not too long after, Harry is sucking in Louis' index finger. Once he's satisfied with his own job well done, he pulls off with a tight  _pop_ and if his ears don't deceive him, he could swear he hears Louis groan. Harry's sure to pull the man's hand away from his mouth so he doesn't feel the small smile that forms on his lips.

 

“Now, start with one,” Harry mumbles as he moves Louis' hand to rest between his legs. That hand jerks away slightly when Harry presses a fingertip to his hole but Harry is pushing it right back against himself, trying to control his twitches at the sorely missed contact. It's been longer than he'd like to acknowledge.

 

Continuing his instruction, he adds, “Push in slowly and gently. Don't force it. Once you feel that I've adjusted to that, push a second one in and eventually start scissoring your fingers, got it?”

 

“Got it,” Louis whispers. And he does exactly as he had been told.

 

Harry lays still as he lets himself be stretched open by Louis' fingers. What starts out as breathless sounds soon turn into the smallest of whimpers and then soft moaning as Louis begins to stretch his fingers farther and thrust them in deeper. Harry's cock is unbearably hard by the time he tells Louis to pull his fingers out. It had taken all possible willpower and strength not to touch himself. Harry had resorted to lifting his arms up and clutching onto the headboard behind him, thrusting in time with Louis' fingers. Every so often, when Louis shifted his position, he felt something bump against his thigh and he didn't have to see in the dark to know what it was.

 

“Are you...” Louis trails off and he sounds unsure.

 

“I'm ready,” Harry answers, knowing exactly what Louis had been getting at.

 

By the time Louis has finished removing his boxers, Harry's already turned over on his elbows and knees with his legs stretched wide open. He quivers slightly when he feels Louis' hands brush against his hips and lets out a soft sound when those hands press into the curve of his bones and grip him in place.

 

“Do I just-”

 

“Lick your hand, get your dick wet, push in,” Harry rushes out. He's never had to explain so much of the process in his entire life. Not even the other “straight” boys he's had sex with before needed this much instruction. Louis was being far too hesitant and careful and Harry admits he's a little frustrated by it and not necessarily in a good way.

 

“Don't slack on the saliva,” Harry adds. He's kicking himself for not having thought of sucking Louis off instead of spending so much time doing it to the man's fingers but he's open, stretched, and ready. He's going to start acting out if they have to backtrack now.

 

Goosebumps break out all across his skin when he feels the slick tip of Louis' dick brush against his more than sensitive hole. His hips involuntarily twitch so that he's shifting away but Louis' hands are pulling him right back into place. He feels one hand leave its place and the next thing Harry feels following that is the tip being pushed in – slowly and ever so gently. He presses his face into his arms and hums against his skin as he feels himself fill up with Louis' length. By the time Louis' has pushed himself all the way in, Harry's shifting forward to pull off – he hopes the older man will get the hint and just  _do it already_ .

 

Harry draws out a long  _yes_ in a moan when Louis does take the hint. He starts off slow but doesn't take too long before he's thrusting into Harry at a quick pace – fast enough to knock the breath out of him but not so fast that he can feel the fact that they had to replace lube with the quick to wear off spit alternative.

 

Louis maintains this pace and the more Harry adjusts and lets himself really feel what's being done to him, the louder his whimpers and moans become. Straight as Louis might possibly be, he does – on occasion – manage to brush against Harry's spot and each time Harry all but yells out Louis' name. The first time this happens, Louis stops immediately and Harry's spitting out, “What the fuck, Louis?”

 

“Did I hurt you?” Louis sounds genuinely worried and there's anxiety in his tone. Harry has to frantically reach behind himself to grab Louis by the hip and grip him in place to keep Louis from pulling out of him.

 

“ _No,_ you didn't _hurt_ me. Jesus fucking Christ, just keep doing what you were doing.”

 

Harry doesn't mean to be so bossy – it's just it really ruins the mood for him when Louis keeps stopping or can't decide what pace he wants to go in. Harry's taken to moving his hips on his own and Louis has since resorted to matching those thrusts. He's not all too thrilled about taking the lead but there will be plenty of opportunities to teach Louis how to dominate him the right way later.

 

_Hopefully_ .

 

It isn't long before Harry's moans have reached an all time high and Louis' breath is growing ragged. Fighting to keep his balance, he reaches down and his own breath almost stops completely when his hand comes into contact with his dick. He's been dying for some kind of touch there the whole time but he didn't want to dive into it too soon. Wanted to drag it out, see how long he could last without the extra stimulation. Teasing himself. But just as Harry's about to start fucking into his own hand, it's being grabbed away and replaced by Louis' own.

 

Leaning down, Louis whispers into Harry's ear, “I want to do it,” and he begins jerking off Harry at an unbearably quick pace. It's almost too fast for him to be able to focus on his release and his legs start to shake with the effort. Between the pace of Louis' hand and how quickly he's thrusting in and out of Harry, the younger is finding the two sensations a distraction.

 

“I-” Harry chokes and he feels tears start to form at the corners of his eyes. More out of frustration now than earlier's sadness. “I _can't_.”

 

“Sure you can,” Louis whispers. He slows his movement just the slightest bit and that makes all the difference. “Cum for me, Harry. Cum for me and you'll get to feel me spill myself inside you.” Harry moans obscenely loud at Louis' dirty talking. “Don't you want to feel that?”

 

“Yeah,” he chokes out again. “I want to feel that so bad.”

 

Louis' voice is no longer a soft whisper. It has an edge to it when he says, “Then  _cum for me_ .”

 

That paired with Louis biting down hard on his shoulder is all the encouragement Harry needs before he's doing exactly what Louis had told him to do – Harry's cumming for him and shaking all over as he does so. What starts out as moaning turns into gasping cries and soon he finds himself clutching his fists into the bedsheets and sobbing against his forearms.

 

Louis doesn't say a word about this, though, and Harry's grateful that he's spared the embarrassment and shame of it. Louis only continues to fuck deep into Harry, drawing more sobs out of him, until the older man is having a release of his own – spilling himself into Harry just like he promised.

 

Harry whimpers between his cries when he feels Louis begin to pull out of him and he's left clenching onto nothing once Louis is finally all the way out. Having no more reason to hold himself up any longer, Harry collapses on the bed and rolls over, letting his knees fall together. His body continues to quake ever so slightly and he can't be sure if it's from the powerful orgasm he's just had or the crying that resulted from it. Either way, he's thankful that Louis hasn't said anything about it. He can only hope Louis continues to be silent about it. This isn't something he wants to discuss. Not after sex and not tomorrow either.

 

Speaking of Louis...he's nowhere to be found now.

 

Harry starts to panic for a second. He's thinking worst case scenarios that would be indefinitely silly to a sober mind but he's just been fucked out of his head – he's feeling more vulnerable than ever and in desperate need of some post-sex snuggling. But Louis isn't around for that.

 

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry sobs out. “Where did you _go_?”

 

Louis' response is immediate. Harry's feeling the bed next to him sink down and he hears Louis' soft  _shhh_ in his ear. The next thing he feels makes him jump out of his skin – a warm wash cloth is being pushed between his legs and rubbing at his hole and everywhere around it.

 

“I just went to wipe myself off,” Louis whispers softly. “And get something to clean you up too.”

 

Harry feels his bottom lip quiver and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes as more fresh tears start spilling down his cheeks.

 

“You're so good to me.” Harry's voice cracks on every word. “Why are you so good to me?”

 

As Louis pulls his hand away, he pushes his face into Harry's hair and then moves his lips to kiss him lightly on the forehead.

 

“Because you deserve it,” he answers. As he pulls away, Louis runs a hand through Harry's curls before adding, “Now go to sleep. Shouldn't have any trouble with that now.”

 

And Louis is right. Harry has no trouble drifting off into the heaviest of slumbers he's experienced for awhile. Between his climax and the crying, he's utterly wasted and exhausted. Before he drifts off, though, Louis' final words rings loud in his head.

 

This is the first time someone's ever told him that he deserves anything.


	8. It's a Thing That Happens

_Harry's POV_

 

* * * * *

 

He feels it in the morning.

 

He feels a lot of things the following morning but the most prominent is the rawness. Harry knows better. He knows that having a “fuck it” kind of attitude towards not having condoms or lube on hand is never a good idea under any condition. But in his desperation he went and did it anyway.

 

Harry really has to work on that.

 

But first – he has other things to work on. Like finding some form of online education. Much to his miserable dismay.

 

When Harry rolls out of bed and shuffles into the living room, he sees that Louis is nowhere to be found. Glancing on the clock, he realizes it's well into the afternoon. Louis has been gone for a long while by this point. Harry hadn't been fucked for awhile and with as much crying as he had done, no wonder why his deep sleep had brought him past noon.

 

Before sending himself off into Louis' office, he makes himself some breakfast. Just basic eggs and sausage. He'll leave Louis' cereal collection alone. Harry eats it while he pulls up Google and types in various keywords regarding online classes and education and diplomas and such. It's a long process that is made to feel even longer due to his disinterest and lack of concern. He tires of his task quickly and eventually just goes with the first three sites he pulled up. He bookmarks them for Louis to look at later and calls it a day.

 

As much of a day can be after having only been awake for a little over an hour at best.

 

Not wanting to abuse his computer use privileges, Harry moves to push himself out of the office chair and shuffle back into the living room where he plans to numb his brain with hours of television until Louis comes home. But then an idea pops into his head – something he had been thinking about and considering since he arrived here; might have even mentioned it to Louis at some point or another.

 

Spinning back around in the chair to face the computer, Harry pulls up Google once again but this time he starts typing in keywords related to youth groups and communities and those kinds of things. He doesn't know exactly what kind of words to search for – he had never had any reason to look for these things back in Santa Monica. He had been pretty far off from the gay bubble but that didn't mean the pier was completely void of men just as desperate for a lay as he was – straight or otherwise. Everyone was taking whatever they could get down there. From what Harry has collected in his short time in New York, though, things were a little different. Countless beaches have been replaced by intimidating buildings and now he can't tell if someone's eying him because they find him attractive or because his personal style doesn't match the taste of passerby. He never had this problem when he went around shirtless wearing only a pair of shorts. It seems like being stranded in New York just heaped new problems on top of the ones he already had.

 

It's hard being a desperate gay teen who's homeless and trying to figure out how he's going to finish his education.

 

The problem wasn't finding gay youth something or anothers in New York. There were plenty. It was finding one that was close to the area of Louis' apartment. Harry's already eating the man's food and taking up space in his home – the last thing he wants is to take up Louis' time and gas money by saying, “He can you give me a lift so I can hang out with my fellow homos?” He still wasn't even sure if Louis was straight or not. Harry really had to talk to him about that.

 

Harry spends more time on this than he did searching for schools. That either says something about his priorities or the lack of organized organizations. The groups exist, he just has to dig around for them on resource pages of general LGBT websites. Which was a pain to his short attention span and lack of patience for anything. After some time, though, he eventually finds a center that's close to the apartment.

 

Lucky for him. It's a Christian group.

 

“Fantastic,” he mutters to himself as he writes down the address and times it's open. He's got nothing against the God guy – it's just Harry's intentions for going to this center are less than pure. He doesn't want support or guidance. He just wants to meet people so he's not stuck in Louis' hair constantly. The man would probably like to have some time to himself every now and then considering he had been single and living on his own for so long before Harry came into his life. It was a favor, almost – to both Louis and himself.

 

Finally having nothing else left to do or look up online, Harry actually makes it through the door of the office and onto the couch where he had originally intended to be an hour before he started his little gay youth organization search. As he flicked through channels, he resolved to visit it tomorrow. As much as he'd like to do it today, he figured it was a little too late in the afternoon for that and, besides, he looked a mess. He still hasn't showered or combed his hair out from that night.

 

Glancing at the clock on the television, Harry muses that he probably should get on that before Louis comes home. Wouldn't want the older man to think of him as unhygienic on top of being desperate and irresponsible.

 

* * * * *

 

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

As a treat, Louis decides to pick up pizza before he heads home after work. He doesn't know what Harry would like so he takes the half and half route; plain one side, pepperoni on the other.

 

When he walks through the door, he sees Harry sprawled out on the couch staring blankly at the television screen. For a second he thinks that Harry rolled out of bed and went straight for the couch but upon closer inspection he sees that Harry's hair is slightly damp.

 

“I see you took a shower,” Louis observes as he bends down and places the pizza box on the coffee table. Harry immediately responds – quickly sitting up and darting forward to open the box, already attacking the pepperoni side of the pizza.

 

“I did,” he says through a mouthful.

 

“But you didn't get dressed.”

 

Harry just shrugs and mutters, “What's the point?”

 

Louis thinks that perhaps that's true. He's seen the kid in his underwear more than enough times throughout the week and last night...well, last night he's seen a little bit more than that. But he never complains about an opportunity to see Harry without a shirt. Not for any creepy older man pursuing a younger guy reasons. Rather, he just really likes Harry's tattoos. During one night on the rooftop Harry spent the entire time with his arms outstretched talking to Louis about his tattoos and what they mean. He vaguely mentioned how he got them but when Louis gave him stern looks of disapproval after finding out his parents had never consented to any of his ink, Harry spent a lot less time on that part of his tattoos. Louis wonders just what kind of people he had been hanging out with to do something as irresponsible and unprofessional as tattoo a kid without parental consultation. Despite what Harry's said about his parents and how they've treated him, he can imagine that some of the fights were probably warranted.

 

Sitting down next to Harry, he grabs for a slice of the plain pizza. He'll leave the other half for Harry to devour since he's already on his second piece anyway – he's getting there fast. Once he's sure that Harry's had enough quiet time to go along with his dinner, Louis decides to strike up the conversation.

 

“So what did you do today?” The tone of his voice lets Harry know exactly what he's getting at. He's asking for something very specific.

 

“I found three possibilities,” Harry responds. “They're bookmarked. I don't know if you want to check them out or not.”

 

“Do _you_ want me to check them out?” Is Harry asking for approval or help? He's not quite sure. And Harry's wordless shrug doesn't shed any light on his question either. But he'll leave it be. Louis stressed him out enough with this topic last night and Harry did what he had to do so he'll drop it at least for the time being. 

 

Baby steps, like he said last night.

 

It seems like this entire situation with Harry has been nothing but baby steps but they're doing pretty alright. Louis had initially been very worried about what Harry's presence meant for his life but things have been getting along pretty well, all things considered.

 

All things including last night – which Louis supposes he should really talk about.

 

“So...” Louis trails off. He's unsure about how to start the conversation. “Now that we've talked about what you did today. How've you been feeling?”

 

And Harry's not stupid. Just like before, he knows precisely what Louis is getting at. He's very blunt about it too.

 

“Well, aside from my ass being sore,” Harry shrugs and wipes at his mouth.

 

Louis is caught off guard at the rather honest response. “Do you need, like...” Louis hesitates while he tries to come up with the words to communicate his thoughts. He's probably going to sound stupid but he'll risk it for the kid's sake. “Like, cream for that? Or something?”

 

Harry looks over at Louis and he can't quite translate the expression on his face.

 

“I'm fine,” Harry mutters with a shake of his head.

 

“I suppose I should probably pick up a few things next time I'm out then.”

 

“Oh?” Harry's looking at him again, this time the reason behind the smirk is undeniable. “Are we going to be enjoying last night's festivities again sometime soon?”

 

Despite Louis' embarrassment that immediately flares hot in his cheeks, he smiles inwardly at the flash of cheekiness that Harry displayed on the first night they encountered each other. That smooth mystique has returned and it occurs to Louis that Harry is more in his element than he is. This sex stuff was clearly Harry's area of expertise no matter how young he is. Meanwhile Louis can't remember the last time he even had sex – aside from last night. He's thinking long before that.

 

“What are you even?” Harry asks, and the question shocks Louis.

 

“I-- What? I don't...understand.” He's getting flustered and he hates it. For some reason it's easier to do and say things in the comfort of a dark bedroom. Being out in the open in a brightly lit living room just makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. Although this is probably how Harry's been feeling the whole time, Louis stubbornly thinks to himself that this isn't something _he_ should be feeling in _his own_ home.

 

“I mean your sexuality. You don't strike me as a gay guy.”

 

“That's because I'm not... _really_.” Louis has to pause mid-sentence to think about what he's saying. He then backtracks and adds, “I guess I've never given it any thought. I mean, I've definitely been attracted to women but they've been few and far in between. Never found myself attracted to a guy but I've also never completely ruled out the possibility.”

 

“Never been attracted to a guy,” Harry repeats and then he hums. “So what you're telling me is that you don't find me attractive?”

 

“No!” Louis immediately blurts out. “That's not what I'm saying at all!” And he's just about to launch into a rushed explanation in an attempt to smooth out what he thinks are Harry's bruised feelings – but the kid is _laughing_ now.

 

“Chill out,” Harry says. “This isn't a self-esteem thing. I'm just trying to...” He casts his gaze across the room while he attempts to find his words. “Trying to find out where you stand, I guess.”

 

“Well I'm certainly not opposed to the idea,” Louis replies. And that's a given. Considering last night. “But I also don't feel gross or shameful either.”

 

“Never said that you did,” Harry says flatly.

 

“I just don't want you to think I'm having a straight man sexuality crisis or anything.”

 

Harry snorts and shakes his head, muttering, “Just stop now before you embarrass yourself more.”

 

Louis hasn't ceased being aware of the heat that's still flaring in his cheeks. He's very embarrassed and the fact that Harry can see that not just on his face but in his awkward approach to this conversation just makes him embarrassed even more.

 

“Let's just agree that sex is a thing that happens,” Harry starts. “And it doesn't really matter what sexuality you are.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “Well, that sounded insensitive. I mean, unless it matters to you. But judging by what you've said, I don't think it does.”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Alright then.”

 

Louis has never had such an awkward conversation in his life and he's more than delighted for it to have been dropped so effortlessly. He's not only embarrassed himself, he's also put Harry under the impression that he actually  _wants_ to have sex with him again.

 

But doesn't he?

 

He's not entirely sure where he stands with the kid right now. They had never exactly been on very solid foundation with each other to start with – but that just goes without saying when Harry's been kind of a wild card for him the past few weeks. But it seems like just when they manage to sort something out and find some sort of balance between each other, something else happens that throws them off again and they go spiraling into tense territory once more.

 

They've already established that – in Harry's words –  _sex is a thing that happens_ . If Harry's willing to leave it at that then so will Louis.

 

Just your average twenty-seven year old guy having sex with a homeless seventeen year old boy. Nothing unusual about that. Not in the slightest. Happens all the time. Louis is sure of it.

 

Before he can stop himself, Louis is going to ask another question, except he's shut down immediately.

 

“But what about-”

 

“ _Don't_.”

 

Louis glances over and says, “Don't what? You don't even know what I'm going to ask.”

 

“I know what you're going to ask,” Harry mutters as he leans forward and grabs for another piece of pizza. If they weren't so involved with such a heavy topic of conversation, Louis would be thinking about how teenage boys can really put food away.

 

“You're asking about me crying,” Harry eventually adds. “Let's just say that's a thing that happens too. Some people just cry. It's whatever.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” he insists. “It's not like I wanted you to stop and it's not like it hu-” Harry stops himself and shrugs. “Well, it did _kind of_ hurt but it's something I didn't really feel until this morning. But I wasn't crying over that. You said you were going to buy lube anyway. But, really. Don't worry about it.”

 

“Just a thing that happens,” Louis repeats and Harry nods.

 

“I was kind of hoping you wouldn't bring that up, actually.”

 

Louis thought it was the right thing to do. Because he has an idea that it's probably not okay to do certain kind of sex things without lube and it's _definitely_ not okay to do any sex thing without a condom. But his biggest concern was Harry crying because...well...maybe he's gone soft on the kid. Or maybe he just wants to treat Harry the way he has deserved to be treated this entire time. But Louis is afraid that if he mentions this to Harry – after everything they've talked about and after everything he's learned and realized after filling in the little holes of details in between – he'll pull that edgy teenager angst “I don't need you or anyone to save me” kind of thing.

 

But this isn't even Louis trying to save him. This is him trying to give Harry something he's never had before – something that if he had been given it before, maybe he'd be a little less emotional and a lot more stable.

 

It won't kill Louis to have a little bit of respect and decency towards the kid. It wouldn't have killed his parents or teachers or anyone he used to know back in Santa Monica either. But because none of them ever bothered, it ended up killing Harry instead.

 

He meant what he said last night. Louis really believes that Harry deserves to be treated well.

 

* * * * *

 

**Note:** I don't actually know if there are any Christian LGBT youth groups in New York; you'll have to extend disbelief for this. And sorry for the shorter chapter but the next one has a new appearance ^^


	9. Old Friends in New Spaces

**Note:** When Ruby is mentioned, I most definitely mean Ruby Rose. She's not a major character so don't freak. It just felt appropriate given the youth center and all.

 

* * * * *

 

_Harry's POV_

 

* * * * *

 

Harry actually gets up with Louis the following morning, much to the older man's surprise. When Harry mentions that he's going to visit a youth center, Louis smiles and said that it's a good idea. Harry won't admit it out loud but it made him feel a little happy when Louis expressed his approval. If anything at all, Harry was almost expecting him to be passive. Really, Harry didn't even think Louis would bother asking why he was awake. He couldn't imagine why Louis would find it any of his interest or concern. But Harry liked it. He liked Louis showing an interest in him and things he wants to do. He especially liked that Louis offered to give him a ride even if he didn't take it. Harry's already decided that he doesn't want to burden Louis any more than he is already and, besides, he doesn't think the center would open up so early. He didn't leave until sometime early in the afternoon and even that didn't matter because he got lost along the way. Much to his gratitude, however, Harry eventually found it.

 

There's someone standing near the door when Harry walks in. She had been focused on her phone but she must have caught movement in the corner of her eye because when Harry had stepped over the threshhold, she was looking up and greeted him with a wide smile.

 

“Hey there!” she says. “You're a new face.”

 

Caught a little off guard by her cheerfulness, Harry immediately takes to shoving his hands in his pockets and his shoulders draw in.

 

“I'm kind of new to the city in general,” he admits. His already deep voice is even lower when he responds. He should have known a place like this would be filled with the bright, cheery types. Which is good for some people but not him. Not really.

 

“Oh, yeah?” she asks. And he nods. “Well I can't help you with that but I _can_ help you get around here.” She turns and beckons with her hand, adding, “Follow me.”

 

From the empty and open front room, Harry follows the woman down a hall and into a small office space. She grabs something from a stack of flyers and pamphlets scattered out in a mess on a table and hands it to him.

 

“That's just one of those things that introduces you to the center and what we offer and-” She sighs rolling her eyes. “All those boring details that I can just tell you in two sentences or less. Like we have people you can talk to for any reason at all – private and totally off the record. We've got this one room where the activities change by the hour, a room where you can watch movies, another room where you can just chill. We also have a game room. Has a Foosball table in it but I don't suggest you playing me because I'll wipe the floor with you.”

 

Harry's been scanning over the flyer he had been handed but he looks up at that last bit. She's smiling but there's this edge in her eye that lets him know she probably could and  _will_ if given the chance. Since he has nothing to say in response, she extends her hand.

 

“I'm Ruby, by the way.”

 

“Harry,” he says, extending his own hand and shaking the woman's.

 

“We have a cafeteria,” she offers. “Which is actually just a room no bigger than this one. But it's filled with junk food. So. We call it a cafeteria.”

 

It dawns on him then that he hasn't even bothered to eat since dinner yesterday. While back at the penthouse, Harry thought about eating. But he was feeling a little anxious about going to the center. It even got to the point that he almost ended up not going altogether but he figured it'd be good for him. He managed to suck it up. And by the time he had gotten lost just a few blocks away, he had that to worry about instead.

 

“I'm kind of hungry,” Harry mumbles. And without another word, Ruby is immediately moving out of the office, beckoning along him once again.

 

As they walk through the hall, she points to each room and mentions which one is which. There's signs next to each door, though. Harry can't imagine getting lost in a place so small when all the rooms are labeled accordingly.

 

When the two arrive in front of the door that leads to the “cafeteria,” Ruby asks if he'd like her to stick around and he declines. She explains that sometimes people just want someone to stay with them while they get adjusted and find someone else to spend their time with. Which he understands. But he was shocked to have had someone to accommodate him to begin with. He's not expecting anyone to stick around with him longer than they have to.

 

“It's okay,” Harry says. “You probably have more people to greet at the door.”

 

She smiles and nods.

 

“I do, actually. That's kind of my thing. But I'll check up on you later.”

 

“It's fine,” Harry responds quickly. “Don't worry about it.” He had managed to be on his own in the streets of New York for several days. He had managed to be on his own while Louis is at work. He can manage to be on his own now. Ruby doesn't know this, of course, but he's not about ready to mention this either.

 

“Alright then. See you whenever!”

 

He watches as Ruby walks back down the hall with a wave over her shoulder before turning to peek into the room he had been guided to. There's only one person in there and now he's kind of wishing he had asked Ruby to stay. To Harry, the only thing more awkward than being in a room full of people is being in a room with only one other person. But Ruby's a little too far off by now to call out and he's not about ready to run and chase her down. He's had to suck it up on many occasions since leaving Santa Monica – this occasion probably being the most bearable. So that's what he does. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, crumpling the pamphlet within them, and takes a few hesitant steps into room. Harry doesn't go any farther than that, though. He merely shuffles to the side and stands in the corner, watching the other guy stare out the window and eat a bag of chips. It's like this for a minute before the guy is crumpling the bag up and he's turning to throw it away in the trash. When he turns, however, Harry is met with shock.

 

“ _Niall?_ ”

 

The guy squints and he points a finger on the hand that isn't holding the empty chip bag.

 

“I know you,” he says. The expression on his face tells Harry that he's definitely trying to put a name to his face.

 

“Harry – your old friend,remember?” For a second panic sets into Harry when he thinks about the possibility of Niall not recognizing him or remembering him. It had been so long ago since he moved away. He wouldn't be surprised if Niall didn't remember him. He would be extremely upset, though.

 

“No fucking shit!” Niall says and he's immediately tossing the bag into the trash as he walks over to wrap his arms around Harry. He clings on tightly before stepping away, holding Harry out at arm's length. “God, look at you.” He glances up and down and adds, “Look _up_ at you – been growing, much?”

 

“With as much as you eat, I'm surprised you haven't.”

 

“Hey,” Niall warns. “I've been cutting back. So. That's why.”

 

“That's not the only thing you've done,” Harry says. And Niall hums in response. “You've moved too, apparently.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Niall nods. “About a year ago, probably. Moved to the other side. Needed something a little more cheaper. And a landlord that wasn't such a dick.”

 

Harry laughs and nods but, despite his smile, he still can't help feeling a little hurt. He has no reason to,of course, being that Niall and him had lost touch. So he wasn't obligated to tell Harry his new address when he moved again. But that still doesn't change how stranded and abandoned he felt when he showed up at the empty apartment. At least Niall was still in the city, though. Worst case scenario of Niall moving to another state yet again would have just been Harry's usual bad luck.

 

“I stopped by when I arrived in the city,” Harry mentions. “I had your address that you gave me when you moved from California.”

 

“Aw, you wanted to visit me?” Niall asks with a bright smile, and he rubs at Harry's arms. “What are you even doing in NYC anyway?”

 

Harry freezes up at the question that he honestly does not have an answer too. Of course he  _does_ have an answer – but not one he wants to use. He doesn't want to talk about why he left Santa Monica or what happened before he did. And he definitely doesn't want to discuss the aftermath.

 

“Parents...” he tries hesitantly. He's going to have to make this up as he goes along. “Vacation, you know?”

 

“Vacationing in October?” Niall asks. But before Harry has to make up another lie in response, he's shrugging. “Your parents were always weird anyway.” Dropping the conversation for another topic, Niall grabs at Harry's hands and yanks his sweater sleeves up. “I knew it! I thought I saw tattoos!”

 

“Yeah,” Harry mutters while he tries to pull the sleeves down even as Niall is pulling them up.

 

“How'd you get them? You can't be any older than twelve, surely.”

 

“Really, man?” Harry asks. It's such a bad joke that he can't even bring himself to laugh. “California's a crazy place and you know it.”

 

Niall nods and looks thoughtful when he says, “Maybe that's why my parents moved me away from there.”

 

The jokes and jests continue like this while Harry finally gets some food in his belly. When Harry's had his fill of food and Niall more than enough of his own, they move into the game room where they find Ruby who, as promised, wipes the floor with the person she's playing against. She even asks if Harry wants to have a taste of what she was talking about and he declines. She's thrilled about Harry “making a friend already” and even more delighted when she finds out they're friends from childhood. Figuring they both have some catching up to do, Ruby leaves them to it while she has a rematch against the bitter and sore loser she had just been playing.

 

Conversation is pleasant and goes well enough – that is, until Niall invites Harry and his parents over for dinner that very evening.

 

“That's...” Harry pushes his hands into his pocket and sinks into the couch they're sitting on. “Jeez, that's a little short notice, don't you think? I don't know what my parents are up to but they probably have something planned. You usually plan what you're going to do on vacation in advance, you know?”

 

Niall nods and says, “That's true. But whatever they're doing, I'm pretty sure you'd rather be hanging out with me than them, right?” He nudges Harry in the arm and smiles wide. “Old buddy, old friend? Don't you wanna catch up?”

 

“Isn't that what we've been doing this whole time?” Harry asks, laughing. They've talked about everything they possibly could – and everything Harry felt comfortable talking about although there was still certain things he wouldn't share. Not even to an old friend. They haven't seen each other in so long, he'd feel weird just laying everything on him out of nowhere.

 

“Harry,” Niall starts, and his voice mocks the hurt he's trying to mirror on his face. “You're making me feel like you don't want to be around me. It's like you secretly hate me and you're just trying to be nice. And you know what else-”

 

He's going to let Niall go on like this. Being dramatic just for the sake of both of their amusement. But all the while Harry is inside his own head denying everything Niall is saying. Especially that first part about secretly hating him. Couldn't be farther from the truth. But he'd never mention that. And he'd definitely never mention it being one of the reasons why he found himself in New York to begin with.

 

“Look,” Harry finally says. “I promise we'll do it soon. Before I leave, you know. I just have to run it by my parents. I don't think they're all too keen in letting me run around New York by myself.”

 

“Is that why you're here?” Niall asks. “They loaded you off at some youth center just so they could go and do the running around by themselves?”

 

Harry's a little startled by Niall's response – moreso by the way that he hardly even has to think of any more lies. Niall's just filling in all the details based on the little lies he's already been given.

 

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly. “That's pretty much what they did.”

 

“They do know what this place is, right? Like, they know it's not just your ordinary youth center to keep kids out of trouble?”

 

“My parents definitely know I'm gay.” And that wasn't a lie. Because his parents _did_ know that their son is gay and that's one of the other reasons that pushed him to New York.

 

“No shit,” Niall says. “I had no idea.”

 

Laughing a little, Harry replies, “I wouldn't have expected you to.”

 

Harry had hardly even knew for himself back when they were best friends living in the same state. He knew the feelings he had but he didn't really understand the meaning behind them. That little bit of wisdom didn't come to him until after Niall left and he had started exploring the feelings he had for other people. All of which just happened to be men.

 

They continue to talk like this – mostly making plans for Harry to “talk over with his parents.” When asked how long Harry's been in the city he says a few days. Another blatant lie but he didn't want to be too far into his parents' imaginary vacation because then that'd mean less time to spend with his old buddy Niall. If Harry says he's only been there for a few days then he can get away with saying they're going to be in the city for two weeks before heading back. Harry definitely doesn't intend on lying to Niall forever. Here's hoping that these two weeks will give Harry enough time to work up the guts to tell Niall the truth about what's been happening all along. But until then, though, this is what Harry was going with.

 

Niall and Harry spent another few hours not only talking but trying to overthrow Ruby's rein at the Foosball table – two against one, rematch after rematch, they still didn't win. This woman was unstoppable and they eventually gave up entirely, deciding to trade in sore wrists for watching whatever movie they were playing in another room. It wasn't long after that Harry mentions he should head out.

 

“Your parents aren't picking you up?” Niall asks. And Harry shakes his head.

 

“We're meeting up somewhere and then...well, who knows what.”

 

Niall only nods in response and they say their goodbyes. Harry's more than eager to take the long, tight embrace Niall gives to him before he's walking out the door. He's cheerful. A lot happier coming out than going in. And Harry finds himself realizing that he hasn't been in this good of a mood since he arrived in New York. If he thinks back hard enough, he might realize more that he hadn't been in a genuinely good mood since even before then. Although Harry wasn't too comfortable with the idea of telling Niall the truth, he can see himself getting comfortable with it soon enough.

 

In Louis' words, it'll just take baby steps.

 

* * * * *

 

**Note:** There's not going to be a lot of Narry in this. I don't even plan on them so much as kissing. It's for conflict purposes, u feel?


	10. When The Used Becomes The User

_Louis' POV_

 

* * * * *

 

When Louis arrives home from work, he's not exactly sure what he expects, but a bright and chatty Harry is not very high up on the list. The boy is generally pretty mellow and speaks rather slowly but from the second Louis walks through the door well into the time they spend on the roof, Harry's just about buzzing in his seat and can't seem to keep up with his own thoughts. It's a pleasant change, though. Louis couldn't blame Harry for being so broody given his predicament but the bright and effortless smile is definitely not unwelcome.

 

Harry tells Louis everything that took place that day along with everything that was said. By the time Harry's finished sharing every possible second of his day, Louis' left with a few questions.

 

“So...now that you've found out your friend still lives in the city...” Louis stares into his drink. “What now?”

 

Harry looks genuinely confused when he says, “I'm not sure what you mean.”

 

“Well, you originally came here to stay with Niall so now that you've found him...” Louis shrugs and doesn't bother looking up.

 

“I mean, I've lied to him about my situation,” Harry responds. “Mentioned that earlier. But I guess if you'd rather me stay with him then I can...” It seems as if Harry is as lost for words as Louis is. The conversation that's taking place is a rather awkward one and they're both visibly uncomfortable. “If you want me to leave, I can do that. I don't even have to talk to Niall first.”

 

“No!” Louis is all too quick to rush that out and he finds himself a little embarrassed about it. “I'm not trying to kick you out. It's just good to know ahead of time what'll be happening. I'm a business man, yeah? Gotta' make plans before you take action.”

 

Harry smiles a little bit at that but shakes his head.

 

“I'm just an impulsive kid; I don't know what the word _plan_ means.”

 

“Clearly,” Louis says. “Otherwise you wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. So maybe now's a good time to start. Good to get into that habit now before you ruin your life later on.”

 

“Pretty sure I've already managed that.”

 

That stings Louis a little. Along with everything Harry has said about himself and his life in general. Louis just can't get over the fact that someone so young who's barely gotten his feet wet in life already feels like the entire world is against him. If Louis had felt the way Harry does when he was the boy's age, he doesn't think he'd be able to manage where he is now. There are two kinds of people in his line of work – those who succeed because life destroyed every possible moral value in them and those who succeed because it's the job that destroyed them. Louis is the latter. Harry, should he ever be in a power position such as the one Louis finds himself in on a day to day basis, will most definitely be the former.

 

Louis hasn't always been the way he is now. He used to be a rather warm and affectionate person. Maybe he was just a late bloomer when it came to the trials of life. And maybe he hadn't been working at his career long enough for it to have had destroyed him completely because considering his acts of charity the past couple of weeks, he's seeing parts of himself that he hasn't seen since he was in his early 20s.

 

Harry, however...Louis can't be too sure if the boy had ever experienced a virtuous, selfless part of himself or if he had always been against the world, sapping every little bit he could get out of it. Even as young as Harry is, it would seem like the harshness of life has no prejudice to the age of its victims.

 

“You haven't fucked up your life,” Louis eventually says. “Look, you're going to be finishing your education. And you're not living on the streets. I've the space and money to keep you around. I don't mind having you.”

 

That's a strange thing to admit when he had told himself several times that he'd never mention it. But that was before he decided that Harry deserves to know when he's wanted. Deserves to know that he has value and isn't a complete and total fuck up like he feels he is.

 

“Why, though?” Harry asks. In an instant his bright mood had simmered down to something a little more on the somber side. He focuses his gaze on Louis and adds, “I don't understand why you even let me stayed the first night and I definitely don't understand why you're letting me stick around.”

 

And Louis hasn't an answer to that. Because he couldn't explain it to Harry if he tried – all the thoughts he had been entertaining in the past few minutes. Couldn't possibly be into words that just when Louis had been beginning to accept that his detachment and preference of being alone as an ingrained part of his character now, Harry had uprooted it entirely and showed him that it was just a sheet that could be pulled off or slipped on at any time – it just depended all on who Louis was with and how he felt towards them.

 

Even still, Louis doesn't know how he feels towards Harry any more than he did the night they had slept together. But he's well aware that he's developed a soft spot for him. For many years now he had viewed himself as this cold, distant person. But if he truly was the way he thought he was, he would have turned Harry away. Sent him right back out that door. And for those first few nights he was tempted. But something made him put on a brave face and be patient long enough to realize that having Harry around wasn't actually so bad. At this point, he might even  _want_ to have Harry around.

 

Which makes this Niall thing something of a problem.

 

“No one deserves to be living on the streets. Certainly not at your age. And certainly not because of a bad home life.”

 

“So you're doing this out of pity then?” And there's a defensive edge to Harry's voice.

 

Louis doesn't know how to respond. He didn't know how to respond to begin with – he pulled out the best he had.

 

“I mean it, Harry,” Louis insists. “Do _you_ think you deserve to be homeless?”

 

“No one deserves to be homeless! At any age, okay. So why pick me, of all people? Why don't you just start letting every homeless person in the city live with you?”

 

“Because you're the only one who has the balls to walk into a restaurant and sit down like it's no big thing.”

 

Louis doesn't mean to but he laughs when he remembers that night. He had absolutely no idea what to think about what had been happening that entire time. Harry was shameless then and he hasn't ceased to be shameless now. Harry definitely has more guts than Louis could ever find in his own body. Initially he had thought that with Harry's boyish face and all his crying that he wasn't as hard as he looked with all his tattoos and smudged eyeliner. But now Louis is beginning to realize that this kid might be even harder than he is. Genuinely harder. Whereas Louis had just  _thought_ he was hard. Because he had never had the chance to explore just what he had to offer someone. But now he did and it seems like he had seized the opportunity without ever really intending to.

 

“I couldn't have slept on the streets for another night,” Harry mutters with a shake of his head. “I was in no place to be proud.”

 

“Then you just answered your own question.”

 

“But that doesn't answer why you kept me around. One or two nights is charitable. Anything longer than that is...” He trails off in thought but after a moment he shrugs and mutters, “See, I can't even put it in words because I don't know what it is that would make anyone want to keep an underaged homeless fag in their home because their parents didn't want to do it instead. Why would anyone accept that kind of burden?”

 

As this conversation has been taking place, Louis thinks he's come up with a more valid answer than what he thought of before – but he couldn't possibly admit it out loud. Couldn't bear to tell Harry that for a long time now Louis has been feeling pretty lonely and it's on the night that he decided for the first time to deviate from his usual evening ritual of drinking on the rooftop garden in favor of eating in the building's cafe that his loneliness had been beginning to eat him alive. It had been unbearable that night. Maybe the reason why he let Harry stay to start with was because he was that desperate for some kind of human interaction.

 

And it's then that it dawns on Louis that despite all else, maybe him and Harry aren't that different after all. For a long time Louis had wanted to feel needed and Harry had needed to feel wanted. Some chaotic wheel of co-dependency was just turning, turning, turning away.

 

Louis had just as many questions as Harry did and not nearly as many answers as the kid would like from him, but he was starting to gain insight into what he's coming to realize is a mutual predicament. This whole time Louis had thought that this was just Harry's problem but he's beginning to figure out that this is kind of his problem too.

 

But just how is he supposed to explain that to the kid?

 

“I know you're not going to take my word for it,” Louis mumbles. “But I hope eventually you realize that you're never as much of a burden as you think you are.” Looking up, he focuses on Harry in the same way the kid had focused on him earlier. “Whatever you think of yourself – no matter how awful you think you are – I can promise you that I don't think that. I don't see the things you see.”

 

Harry is staring at Louis with a blank expression on his face and Louis wishes there was some kind of clue that would tell Louis exactly what is going through the kid's head at that moment. Searching his face even becomes useless because in the next instant he's looking down and his hands are being pushed into his pockets – just as Louis has witnessed being done time and time again. Maybe that's his clue.

 

“What do you see then?”

 

It's right then that that atmosphere suddenly shifts. What had once been cool evening air surrounding the two of them on the dark rooftop has suddenly become as stuffy as if they had been sitting in the elevator together for several hours on a hot summer afternoon.

 

This is the moment where Louis finally admits all the things he had been swearing he wasn't going to admit or say out loud.

 

“I see someone who isn't really sure of what he wants so he's looking for it in all the wrong places,” Louis starts. It comes out in a rush that leaves him breathless and when he inhales, it's a little shakey. Harry has since looked away from him but from his tense posture, Louis can tell the boy is listening very, very carefully – so he continues.

 

“I see this kid who has never been told that he's valuable or worth anything so that's what he believes. I see a kid who, on the rare occasions he _does_ feel valuable, it's because he's being used by another person. The person I'm looking at right now believes he's only valuable as long as he's useful to someone – even if that use is only sex – and once that use has run out, so has his worth.”

 

Louis takes another shakey breath and as he starts feeling tears form at the corner of his eyes, he thinks about what Harry does when he begins to cry. And he watches Harry as he does that right now – lean over his lap and press the heels of his hands into his eyes. His shoulders start to shake and soon it's his whole body quaking as that first sob resonates throughout the flowers and shrubs on the rooftop.

 

Getting up from his place on a separate seat, Louis sits down to join Harry on the one he's sitting upon. The first time he's done this – comforted Harry – he was hesitant and unsure. But now he's pulling Harry into a big embrace, tight enough to control the boy's shaking, and Louis has a hand in Harry's curls, lightly running his fingers through them. It's this way that Louis manages to calm Harry into a few sniffles and streaks of tears here and there on his cheeks. Now that he's calm enough to be able to hear Louis' next words, the older man leans in close and whispers something into the boy's ear.

 

“ _It doesn't have to be like that_.”

 

Even though Harry doesn't respond, Louis doesn't really expect him to. He's okay with letting the kid hoist his legs up onto the seat and lay them over his lap while the boy turns and tucks himself into Louis' embrace. The kid's been used so many times in his life that Louis is going to let him be the user for once. On the surface it would look like Harry has absolutely nothing to offer Louis – but he knows that just isn't true. He came to that realization earlier that evening.

 

They're good for each other, Louis finds himself thinking. What Harry lacks, Louis provides. And vice versa.

 

That night on the roof – just before he decided to go down into the cafe – he had been feeling a lot of different forms of loneliness and emptiness. He would have never thought that all of those could have been filled with some ballsy homeless seventeen year old. The kid in question has a lot of emptiness in him that needs to be filled as well but as history would prove, filling it with someone else just hasn't done the trick. This kind of emptiness can only be found by the value of self – which Louis has more than enough of. Maybe he could pass on a few things to the boy.

 

By the time Louis pulls himself out of his torrent of thoughts, he looks down to see that Harry's asleep against his chest. It's been awhile since he's worked out or had to carry anything heavier than his briefcase but Louis doesn't want to wake Harry up so he gives it a shot at picking the boy up and carrying him across the rooftop and into the elevator. He manages well enough.

 

* * * * *

 

**Note:** I'm not crying.  _You're_ crying. Also: Please take another moment to fully appreciate little wee and tiny Louis carrying Harry who is, in fact, bigger than him. 


End file.
